


Jimin's Gate

by doomingdawn



Series: Slave to the Rhythm [1]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Anxiety, Background Character Death, Depression, Escort Service, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Gay, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Male Character of Color, Multi, POV Character of Color, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Prostitution, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8563786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomingdawn/pseuds/doomingdawn
Summary: Park Jimin was the youngest in his graduating class, so when he finished high school last summer, the imaginative minor felt lost and useless. Upon turning eighteen three weeks ago, he was convinced to work as an escort for his best friend Min Yoongi's older brother. This is his trying story, and the consciousness of everything surrounding it.





	1. Boy Meets World

**Author's Note:**

> I'm essentially setting up for what will be the documentation of regular and non-regular visitors to sex worker Jimin. Sometimes, this will be all about sex. Sometimes, he will be anxious about Yoongi, about the customer, or about himself. 
> 
> What this basically means is that the series will consist of Jimin having sexual encounters with everyone who's anyone in and out of K-Pop through this beautiful alternate universe. The story will feature (and continuously refer back to) some business, some angst, and some surely simmering YoonMin. Backstory and world-building will be emphasized during chapters which focus less on smut.
> 
> Archive warnings and tags will be tweaked properly as things progress. If the former change, I will have a trigger warning at the beginning of each chapter which adds to them. *****
> 
>  
> 
> ***As of chapter 5, I have assigned a non-con archive warning not for forceful or clearly defined rape, but rather for purely dubious consent. Unless you are personally incredibly sensitive to this, nothing should bother you as of now. I will continue to update as is appropriate.**

**Round face. Plump lips. Cute.**  
**Doe-eyed. Big-boned. Burly. Ripped. Short.**  
**Thick thighs. Fat ass. Loud.**

“Can you suck cock?”

There I was, an accumulation of descriptors, buzz words for my advertisements. I liked Yoongi a lot more than I did his brother.

“Sure can.”  
“Yeah but, can you do it well?”  
“Think so.”  
“You like to do it?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You messy? You gag? You spit?”  
“I swallow.” Spitters are quitters.  
“No, I mean, do you spit on a dick when you’re suckin’ it.”  
“Whatever gets the job done.”

I was taking advantage of the fact that no matter what I said, the job was mine.

There I was, backpack straps draping across my shoulders, petite nose twitching incessantly as the smell of cigarettes invaded flared nostrils. In one hand, I carried a duffel bag. In the other, a guitar case.

In that moment, my mind was in a thousand other places, not sitting at a makeshift dining table in a surprisingly shabby apartment. I saw my room two months ago, and it was certainly quite luxurious. Then again, the locked storage slash walk-in closet there was my real paradise. Room to store and sit down, to write, read, sing. In the bedroom, I’d be working. Spreading my legs. Moaning, writing poetry in afforded praises. Maybe I’d get a cot and sleep under my dress clothes instead, maybe.

It isn’t such a bag deal, really. I like sex. Isn’t that what this is about? Yoongi told me that they’d take me shopping as soon as I was settled in, to decorate my room. It needed to suit my personality. It needed to be ready to house every corner of my soul. It needed to be loud, because the hallways were dark, neutral, and royal. I needed clothes that did the same, and undergarments which were perfectly feisty. I needed to be ready for line-up, unless I had the night off. I needed bleach, and bright, cherry red hair dye.

“You know how to get the job done.” His heavy voice was like ambrosia. Sweet serenity, and finally, I exhaled. No more worries, despite my confidence. Of course. Still, no second-guessing myself. I stood to my feet and turned away, a gentle smile still gracing my cheeks as I went downstairs, took a right, and walked into the zone of business. A left, now, and I found Yoongi already waiting in front of my room with its keys - one for me, and one for management.

I know what you’re wondering. How was I so sure? Was it his recommendation? Family familiarity? I don’t know the real reason why. I suppose I just assumed. I don’t think it hurts that my new boss had previously walked in on me sucking the life out of his little brother’s cock with the loudest, most guttural sounds of sex falling from my clogged mouth. I think it might have helped me that my ass, which he seems to love so much, was high in the air, my back arched, each globe of a cheek throbbing and covered in red marks. 

It certainly was enticing, that my immaculate, pink pucker was just hardly covered by tight briefs, and that he still wanted to get a piece of this hole sometime soon. Sucks to suck.

How lewd. I adapt fast, I feel I have to assimilate. My tummy is upset, but Yoongi’s face makes me smile. I don’t know why, but I kiss him. Gently, quickly, and he unlocks the door and lets me in. I take everything straight into this closet, which is immediately on my left, and I dump it all and want to cry. My room is small, but I’m a bit feline, so I love it. A huge bed, queen-sized, nightstands, a dresser. It is strictly acting as a bedroom, however. The desk where I will put my laptop when I can afford one will be in my closet. Still, I like small spaces. And who cares when I have my very own, private bathroom, where I will fondle men and, most importantly, relax by myself.

I have my own bathroom. It’s small, but it has everything: a shower, a toilet, a sink, a small storage space for toiletries. Somehow, this is everything that I wanted. I feel at home. I hug him, and he kisses my cheek and whispers something in my ear. I didn’t hear him, and I was too embarrassed to ask him to repeat himself, simply entranced by his voice. 

I wonder if he’ll be the first person to bend me over here, but his little brother waltzes by instead, and I remember that I’m in someone’s home, and that the walls may or may not be soundproof. (They won’t tell me; they don’t want me to worry.) I go to say hi, but nothing comes out. He isn’t my best friend’s little brother anymore, he’s the innocent sibling of my employer who isn’t involved with its business.

I started to wonder if Yoongi would stop being the boy I lost my virginity to and start being my supervisor, but the simple thought broke my heart too fast for me to catch the pieces and translate them into speech, so I shifted past, took my key from his familiar fingers, and stood near the front door down two hallways to wait for the oldest. My perception of all three brothers changed that day. They lost their individuality. Now, they were youngest to oldest, shortest to tallest, highest voice to lowest voice. And I was a commodity, going shopping. 


	2. Please Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin experiences his first line-up. Yoongi isn't mad. And believe it or not, thoughts of the future really are this intimidating for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modernist anxieties slowly bleeding into smut. I promise there will be chapters where you don’t (potentially) feel bad for Jimin. Enjoy True Romance in the meantime. xo

I forgot to mention how bright it was, then. What a shame, seeing that it gets dark early on nowadays. The afternoon was blinding, and the halls were quiet. Now, a handful of young men, and even a few women, populated the frames of open doors. This is how my cousin described the first day of college, but instead of exchanging friendly smiles and words, I’m only questioning where I stand with strangers who do the same dirty work I do, and wondering if Yoongi knows them. He must, of course he does. But surely he hasn’t. My heart turned too blue, too swamp green to finish the thought.

The exotic mall in our tourist neighborhood had dark leather BDSM belts that you wear over your naked torso, and tight, red jeans which I bought three of. They make my ass look amazing. This is what I’m wearing for line-up tonight, and with dark combat boots at that, because you can never appeal to too many fetish groups. With my arms crossed, the olive musculature of my chiseled abdomen looks particularly good - I look bulky, and broad-shouldered despite how short I am. This is perfect for most men, specially those who will enjoy my charm. I communicate a lust for receiving but dominating, and yet flexibility above all else. I must remain versatile.

His brother told me all of these things. I think he’s right.

It’s dark outside, now, the bottom end of dusk rolling in with stormy clouds leading it. If I wanted to sound pretty, I could fixate on the monarch butterflies fluttering in my stomach; if I wanted to be realistic, I’d be honest about how the anxious churning in my gut is nowhere near as enjoyable as that. The last thing I want is to make my own digestive system upset. I haven’t eaten in ten hours and I’ve cleaned myself to such a pristine degree. I am truly ready for anything.

There’s no bell horn or loud yelp, just his brother waving us down, and we walk in single file and attempt to look as charming as possible when we stop at our heels and turn ninety degrees like a marching band. I notice an older woman among the minuscule crowd of two business men, clearly just looking for their after-work kicks. But the shorter’s phone goes off, and he leaves the building as soon as he looks at the caller ID. The other chooses a woman, and the lady picks a taller man.

I’m conflicted. On one hand, the last thing I wanted to do was to be with her. I breathe a sigh of relief, and then inhale a shaky gasp of air. Rejection hurts no matter which way you spin it. Yes, even if it surprises you. We return the way we came, in a slightly more casual fashion, and I’m fighting with the aching feeling invading my muscles until I enter my room. Mindlessly studying the posters and paintings we bought to adorn the warm walls, my door shuts and automatically locks behind me before I notice him on my bed.

Yoongi’s smiling, like he anticipated the whole thing. Or did he plan it?

“It’s okay, baby boy. These things happen. You’ll be some man’s biggest fantasy.”  
“I already am.”

He liked that, and his smile melts my heart. He’s wearing nothing but tight white briefs, which do little to hide the throbbing girth of his impressive phallus. I feel saliva flooding my mouth, and I wet my plump lips with it before swallowing. He’s toyed with himself already, I can tell by the time he lifts his hips and kicks the undergarment off, the milky white giant that is his cock clapping against a gently defined abdomen. Tossing the fabric my way, I catch the dirtied cloth midair, and the naturally alluring scent of his familiar, masculine musk wafts from where my plump fingers touched it, invading my body involuntarily. 

I look at him, begin moving forward, and push his drawers against my face. I feel my arms quake as I suck in the aura. I lick at its distinct flavor, kissing at the cloth and leaving a wet mark until my impatience gets the best of me. I decide to toss the briefs onto my dresser for later and simply dive right in, my head between his thighs as I coast.

I know that all he wants to do is fuck me, I can see it in his eyes. It’s an intense longing, both physical and emotional. I’m on call tonight - I can’t give it to him. It’s perfect, convenient: it looks like I’m teasing him no matter how bad I want it, increasing our sexual repertoire. It’s teaching me temperance even while celebrating lechery. It’s putting me intensely in the mood, so that I can truly perform for other companions, if I end up with them. I hope I don’t. 

I doubt he cared as soon as my swollen lips attached themselves to his smooth sack. My warm tongue rolled around the largeness of their weight, the wetness of my mouth leaving flesh sensitive to my warm, panting breath. The hot air when I spoke created pleasure along the wetness. “Feed me, baby.” I moaned. Fuck, I need him. I want him so bad.

Admittedly, I was often very hesitant around Yoongi. I didn’t want to kill this made up sex ‘mood’ I had been taught all about, despite dirty talk making it better. That was a risk and assumption I could make with customers, but right now, not so much.

Enough business talk, Jimin. What matters now is that you trace your tongue up the throbbing girth, replacing your mouth with one hand to massage and caress this beautiful boy’s tightening balls. Like clockwork, I listen to my own feral instinct, gliding the tip of my tongue along his leaking slit, looking up at him with my wide eyes. He’s flexing his biceps, showing off the pit of his arms as he lounges, smiling. I turn his crescent lips into a full moon when I shove my head down expertly, pretending that I really am a professional, experienced escort when the truth of the matter is that I am simply familiar. Too familiar, with Yoongi’s monstrous, lovely cock. And I deep throat him, and I know it’s the best. He’s the best.

You should keep in mind: I might be biased.

“Fucking hell, baby...” He’s grunting like a madman now, speaking mantras and tongues, and I have no intention of letting up. The raindrops pat against the side of the complex, and I start to get romantic again. This isn’t a blowjob, no. This is oral therapy. I am worshipping his phallic love with my mouth, full stop. I am certainly not gliding my lips, but quite literally sucking. Drooling, moaning around his wet prick, not afraid to cough or gag. I let him watch the bulge he makes in my throat as I use my face like a living, breathing sheathe, a fuck toy, and he goes wild. “Shit, yes!” 

His words get me off, but I’m trying to ignore my own erection, because it hurts against my plastic-looking, eccentrically red jeans, and I’m still getting used to converting pain into pleasure. I know he’s so close, because I’m not just his favorite person, or his favorite mouth, but I’m massaging how he’s hung, all over. Everything that my mouth isn’t on is being nurtured or pumped, and I’m really draining him - sucking his life out of his cock, yet again, and he loves every minute of it. His hands aren’t touching my styled hair, no. They’re caressing my cheeks, rubbing them slowly, and stroking my neck as I coo all over his cock. I slide back, swirl my tongue around his swollen head rapidly, and suddenly, thick ropes of warm semen are flooding my mouth, shooting all across my tongue. The first white ribbons are so powerful that they are ejaculated right into the back of my throat. I swallow happily. For a minute, I forget what I’ve done in my life, where I’ve gone with him. This isn’t a mission accomplished, this is just me making my beautiful man happy.

Thunder crackles in the distance as I suck him dry, pull off of his cock with an audible, wet pop, and lick him clean, from bottom to top. I look up at his dreamy smile, and can tell that he is satiated and fantasizing. Is he fantasizing about bending me over and fucking some orifice on every surface in this small living space? Is he fantasizing about taking me upstairs and letting me sleep in his very own bed again, where I’ve slept so many times before? Is he fantasizing about taking me elsewhere and marrying me? Is he fantasizing about how nervous he’ll be when another man lays there, how resentful he might feel? I wonder what’s next before his words break through the silence, radiating joy and stoic sureness.

“I love you.”


	3. Human Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin is personally requested through his online profile. He spends the evening with a wealthy businesswoman’s youngest son. His guest is of the same age and seems lonely. Stuck on the philosophy of his new lifestyle, the escort’s worries inflate.

I read the digital introduction like a postcard on my smart phone. It entitled itself ‘virtual reflection’ like a letter I could somehow reject, send back to its deliverer, but that was not an option. I was not being asked to do a favor, but rather told that I had a job which needed to be completed. In a tight, white muscle shirt and light grey boxers, I sat cross-legged atop my bed as my eyes traveled down the webpage. My plump thumb scrolled across the edge of the glass screen while my free hand played with the vertical, light blue stripes sewn into my underwear, tracing them thoughtlessly. Maybe I was nervous and I didn’t know it. 

_My son has a cute face, an athletic body, and is well-endowed. He is simply shy and needs to be comforted. His name is Jeon Jungkook. I do not know what he likes, but who he likes are boys._  
What an awkward sentence. And how does she know that her son is well-endowed? Is that something you notice at birth? Is she that obsessed with a confident and powerful vision of her introverted son?

Regardless, the pictures attached struck a chord in me somehow. I felt dirty, like I was cheating on Yoongi (my boss’s little brother), and then I remembered that conversation we had. I remembered the many conversations we had, about the state of our friendship, about this job, about us. I remembered the night prior, too. It was okay to be aroused. 

Jungkook was taller than me, and handsome. Among innocent smiles, one of the images showed him shirtless and poolside. His musculature was nice. Arms and thighs, simple but attractive. I was subtly aroused by hope, and keeping an open-mind is nine-tenths of this lifestyle, isn’t it?

It all made sense, anyway. Why I was told to be clean, but to dress casually. This would be a bit of a slumber party. Hesitantly, I continued.

 _I want to know what he likes, but most importantly, I want him to feel refreshed. Park Jimin looks like the type who can do this job._  
Why does her writing bother me so much? It’s none of your business, what your son likes. Then again, finding a mom who’s cool with this is shocking. If I had one, I wouldn’t be here right now. What a depressing thought, Jimin. Don’t act like you don’t want to be here right now.

It rained all day, but it was nearly twelve now. The cloudy night sky made the air smell wet, and sweet. He showed up a little early, not thirty minutes later, and his mother saw him off at the door. Everyone was embarrassed: he was driven to an escort’s place by his mother for a sleepover which she arranged. Yoongi had to answer the door. I don’t want to get into detail about why that’s heart-wrenching, or why I’m awkwardly imagining it as so. I think it’s self-explanatory. The point is that I spotted Jungkook’s blush from my peephole and acted accordingly.

Game on. I opened the door for him before he could knock, flashing a bright, beautiful smile and bowing my head lower than I rightfully should have for another eighteen year old. I took a step back and waved him in with a slow and encouraging hand, dark brown orbs perusing his body as he passed. The door locked automatically after being gracefully shut, and I waited, introducing myself and only slowly pacing near the bed. “I’m Park Jimin. You can call me whatever you’d like.” I say simply, and he chuckles and bites his lip - is he sweating? Maybe he really is inexperienced. “And you can do whatever you want with me, too.” I clarified. 

It would have been rude for him to not say his name had I not already known it. Some would say that it was still rude for him to grab a hold of my hand before saying a single word to me, but I could tell that he wasn’t malicious, just not attentive. He struck me as someone who talked a lot but never said much, even before I heard his voice. I’m getting paid to do something, though, and I don’t want to fuck it up, so while he holds one of my palms with ten fingers, we negotiate. He starts. 

“I’ve never had sex before.”  
“Really, baby? Well, that’s quite alright. Is it okay if I call you baby? What would you like me to call you?” I know no one has ever called him ‘baby’ but his mom before, but it really showed. He was blushing again.  
“Baby... or Jungkook...”  
“Well, Jungkook, don’t worry about what you have and haven’t done. Just tell me what you’d like to do and I can make it happen.”

It was costing him to be here. Somehow, that exchange of money commodified our entire human experience. Once I reminded him that I was pliant, he remembered that this was because I was an escort. A sex toy, and not a person. I don’t blame him. Most people our age haven’t been through enough to consider thinking outside of the box. But watching how he shifted from a well-mannered, inhibited teenager to a sex-crazed, visibly repressed young man was a bit off-putting.

He wanted the warmth, the emotional intimacy, the closeness, and to finally reach orgasm by someone else all at once. I didn’t know how to slow him down until his eyes dropped. He took a liking to my meaty thighs, and somehow, that solicited heavy breathing as he slowly pulled his tee shirt off, swiftly beginning to unbutton his jeans. Before I knew it, he wore nothing but black briefs and low-cut socks of the same color, and he was crawling onto my sizable bed. Rolling onto his back, he pulled himself up until his back was against the dashboard; only then and there, like a prince, did he make his demand.

Staring at the veins along his forearms inspired me to slide onto the bed myself, positioning my bottom against the bunched up blanket between his legs. Should I take the lead? I assumed that my role was always to be submissive, to follow orders unless specifically requested to be dominant, in which case a safe word would be provided and preferences would be drawn out meticulously. No. Instead, my first customer was someone my age with a helicopter parent who flies creepily low.

At this point, I realized why this job is so productive. You’re having sex for money, and also having sex to take your mind off of the fact that this might be awkward, that you don’t want to be here, or that you’re having sex for money to begin with. But no, this kid was cute. I wanted to have sex with him. The issue is that it isn’t about me wanting to have sex with someone, it’s about someone wanting to have sex with me. It’s about what they want. So I sit back on my feet, letting my wide hips showcase themselves, and I reach down to grasp his bulge with both hands. Not bad, quite good, but he’s no—

“I wanted to be fucked.” His thoughts interrupted mine because he was brave enough—or unfiltered enough—to speak them. “But...” 

There it is. My ass, converting people with reductive ideas of sex into switches since the dawn of my... a younger birthday. I have nothing holding me back, and I am more than happy to top for a change, but this boy has his hands copping a feel, wrapped around my back and squeezing my ass already. I pull my striped boxers down from the front, discreetly and quickly, and he practically coos from the opportunity. The way he grasps and kneads at the mounds of flesh like thick, large pounds of dough is adorable and arousing all at once. This is what he’s wanted, above all: the chance to experiment. Mother knows best.

I turned around to flash him my goods, and he grabbed me, hugged me from behind. He used my rear to tug his own briefs down, pushing against his abdomen and grinding south. It’s then that I realize he wants it bareback and unprepared, and by the grace of the heavens, I need to take control and keep myself out of pain and misery. I have a new found respect for sex workers of all varieties. It takes true intelligence, motivation, and outspoken action to do this well. If there’s one related trait I’ve readied for this job, it’s foresight. 

I lean forward and brace my palms against his calves, stroking his sensitive legs (all of a virgin is sensitive) and grinding back and forth. His moans were sweet and almost beautifully consecutive, acute and repetitive without stop. His lengthy member drooled all over itself, the red slit along his swollen head leaking premature ejaculate as if he were orgasming already. I never let it drip down to his abdomen, but rather pushed my hips against his cock, creating friction that felt even better, but more importantly, spreading the slick along his shaft and between my cheeks. 

What would make this bearable, sufficient, even enjoyable? A lubricated condom. Who went into the supply closet and sewed the edges of one’s package into his ‘I’m vaguely working tonight’ boxers? Park Jimin, an incredibly flexible boy who currently had his boxers around his knees. 

That’s right, I’ve found my calling. I ripped the plastic square open to get to the circle and pulled it out, kicking my underwear onto the floor before it could be seen. Basic geometry and physics, right there. Looking behind me, I wet my plump lips and equipped the condom by beginning to moan whorishly, reaching back beneath my lifted ass and sliding the tightness onto Jungkook’s rock hard phallus while he was distracted.

I could have climaxed right then, because I felt like a spy, a saboteur, an agent of the utmost amazingness. But then, he slides all of himself inside of me like a jack rabbit, and my cry tests the mysterious nature of these walls. If they aren’t soundproof, I’ll know tomorrow. 

I deserved this, for not telling him to go slow. He’s adorable. I want to be his friend, I want to hug him, but this is hard to cope with. My body wants off, but my mind pushes down, my pucker squeezing around him, nursing him slowly. I twitch not twice but once, and suddenly feel the decent thickness throbbing as the tip of the latex inflates. The grinding must have brought him so close, and I was riding reverse cowboy the entire time. I’m glad his porn brain told him to slap my dark skin so hard that the red started to show, because I don’t mind having my ass appreciated. That was sarcasm, by the way. It still hurts. His absolutely imperative screams of bliss were nice, though.

When he kissed me, it was precious. I was going to take the condom off with my mouth, but such a stunt was hard to manage when he pulled the plastic off and let its mess pour down his flaccid gift all of a sudden, as if he didn’t know what to do and simply got excited. I licked it all off like the adult star he wanted me to be and fell asleep beside him. I was exhausted not with him, or physically, but with the day of mystery itself. 

My slumber was a dreamless time machine, and I woke up to a note written on my phone. I really need a pass code. That childish boy who I teach about the world and have sex with sometimes. Quite a rapport. Rubbing my eyes, I chose to squint at the brightness, already listing off loads of laundries I would have to do and showers I would have to take throughout the day as I read.

“Thank you so much. I miss you already”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our new friend may become a sparingly recurring character. I find this Jungkook to be lovable for his immaturity and yet intriguing because of his atypical background. I might introduce others like this, and some will be one shots. Hope y’all enjoyed!


	4. Tears Dry On Their Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoongi takes Jimin out to breakfast. Jimin’s eating with himself, but Yoongi doesn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jimin’s dwellings are definitely defining the angst of this story, although there’s fluff between those YoonMin threads, and little bits of comedy scattered across battlefields of smut. This kid’s breaking my heart, though. More intimacy to come.

Steaming tea and sizzling German sausage. Yoongi shoveled his mouth full of meat like it was his job. I sipped at a heavy cup of coffee, enjoying every ounce of French vanilla creamer which weighed the beverage down and thickened it. Our strawberries were particularly lively, vibrant shades of red complementing golden crisp danishes, filled with cheeses and jams. He called it the diner’s ‘full English breakfast special’, or something like that. Sounds like an advertisement slogan to get young lads excited.

I shifted in the wooden seats, which were not constructed with my build in mind. My thighs were squeezed uncomfortably, and my still sore, marked ass was constrained by the bars decorating its backside. I had this problem a lot. The world had a way of making my body feel political, empirical, and now I was capitalizing on that image, so I had to own it. I stealthily cupped my sack and pulled my private parts above my legs, pressing firm lower limbs together and sitting uniformly. With my spine vertical, I ran my fingers through my eccentric hair to pull the worn out locks away from my eyes. I caught myself staring at the fruits once more, and then he nudges my calf with his foot. 

I look up and he’s already smiling, even as he chewed. I smiled, too.

“How was your first customer?”  
“Good. Alright; I mean, kinda shitty, but that’s life.”  
“What happened?”  
“He was my age. Inexperienced.”  
“Oh.”  
“Also, his mother arranged the entire thing.”  
“Oh? I thought she was a handler.”  
“I wish he was some spoiled mob prince. No. He’s an awkward kid.”  
“Did it go well?”  
“For him, it did. I fell asleep when he did, and he left me a cute note.”  
“Wow... Gonna go get hitched?”  
“Oh, fuck off.”

I spoke like a true teenager in public, swearing and chuckling; that’s when I remembered that I didn’t belong here. The beating in my chest soared, and it clenched roughly every time. I longed for something different, and started to question whether or not I was out of my mind when I so willingly jumped at this opportunity. It was certainly a chance. 

There is this sophomoric compartment in my soul which craves the attention I get. The thought of one of my classmates expressing sexual desire towards me and acting on it is a fantasy I could have shaped out of my last encounter. It’s a thought I would have enjoyed. Despite complications, I would have adored this job a couple years ago, when all I did was sit around and jack off after school... but now, I like someone. 

And what made it even worse was the fact that it was Yoongi’s family business. His older brother ran the whole thing, and he was okay with it. He knew all about it, and he prolonged my pain by encouraging me without ever making me hate him, first. If he was just a boy, I could stop the love I bled, let it finish, and patch up the wound. But this, this was an open sore, and I kept picking at the stitches, scratching at the scabs. I wanted to bleed out.

Yoongi was still willing to smile. He still kissed me in the hallway, but these passages were dimly lit, not aligned with shabby lockers. He was willing to lay in the same bed that strange men and silly boys were serviced in, and somehow, it was still just Jimin’s bed. He was open-minded, unconditionally loving; he understood alternative lifestyles, mine the most, and he was accepting of them. He’s too good of a man. What’s worse? The continuation of this, which benefits only myself? Or that he might one day do something to shatter this comfortable fantasy of domestic bliss?

Am I taking advantage of him?

By the time I was done thinking about myself, he was still grinning. I sufficiently checked back into reality and continued eating, shoving as many carbohydrates as I could down my throat. The fiber was a strategic choice, as was the coffee. Getting ready for work later would be a hell of a lot easier, like this.

When he kissed me in public, I knew that this was what he wanted.

He picked up the check in the blink of an eye and we walked back out to his car. It was just a little chilly and partly cloudy. As another storm pushed closer, it became just cold enough for him to drape his leather jacket across my shoulders when we got into the car. With nothing but the time it took for the heater to get going between me and comfort, Yoongi still took clothing off of himself to give to me. 

I wish he didn’t know me so well, because when I started crying, it was impossible to hide.


	5. Never Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin’s second line-up is confusing, satisfying, and then... _different._ He decides to conform, and the result is thought-provoking sex. Or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A fair disclaimer:** some of the tones that start to pick up in this chapter relate to the moral and personal decline of Jimin’s self. This developmental arc will be reckoned with, but it will not be pretty. These events can be read as poignant and they border a non-consensual space which is often challenged in sex work. I do not wish to take a personal stance on a physical laborer’s ability to properly consent to paid acts, but I _will_ let the creative literature speak for itself. 
> 
> I have added an archive warning to the story. I’d rather be safe than sorry.

I cleanse my body as a ritual now, warm water scalding like flames of purity. A long shower and deep scrub clear my pores and clean my flawless skin. It is my job to make this immaculate aesthetic look effortless, but behind the scenes, I wash my face six times a day and sleep with my short hair tied up with a bandanna. Nothing can touch my forehead. No one, except for a client. The concise art of vanity is now an aspect of my lifestyle; regulation of the food I love and the exercise I don’t are also of massive importance. Breakfast has passed me by, and it is a new day. Feeling frisky, I am willing to take a risk by wearing nothing but briefs to line-up. The Min brothers would consider me an entrepreneur for this genius advertising - I was _certain._

The tight, black fabric disguises the thickness of my humbly lengthy bulge as a shadow, but it cannot possibly contain the entirety of my own family jewels: the olive globes of delectable flesh which adorn my plump rear bounce gracefully. The constraining cloth hugs them but stops midway, their bottoms hanging out of the small compartment. Each step I take is enticing, the girth of my heavy thighs and powerful legs guiding the rest of me. I move in a meticulously masculine but submissively charming fashion. My second customer will begin my golden era, I can tell. I know it in my heart. I feel confident, determined, and quite frankly, horny. My mind was primed. The others around me knew the flavor radiating from my body. Maybe they knew what was to come before I did. 

The suitor is a young man who looks like he could be anywhere in his twenties. Dark skin but light, dyed hair, he strikes me as a try-hard rapper, or some other up-and-coming entertainer. He hands a document to Yoongi’s brother, which triggers the host to hold a brisk ‘thumbs up’ toward us. Our customer is clean. Of the five of us (two women and three men), one girl leaves. Out of all my peers, who flash me the evil eye and purposefully make it a point to ignore me in the hallway, she annoys me the most.

“You march to the beat of your own drummer.” He tells me about myself. Is this about my hair? The less than conventional beauty of my body? Why is he speaking like he knows me? Nevertheless, he introduces himself. A bark, while walking forward, and my coworkers return to their rooms silently. “Kim Namjoon.” Suddenly, my heart beats faster, and I’m ecstatic. It’s only my second line-up, and I was chosen. Being semi-nude was clearly my winning move. He’s handsome enough, but right now, he has me turned on and more than ready to cooperate.

I smile as money exchanges hands behind him; I’d rather be on my knees for his bodyguard, truthfully: tall, cherubic face, carries the cash. But I tuck my thoughts aside instead and look up at tonight’s intuitive buyer with a grin. Making do is my middle name.

“Park Jimin, but names are negotiable.”  
“Good, sweet-cheeks.” Ugh.

He grabs my hand but it’s me who must lead him back to my room, wishing there was an angle I was comfortable enough in to roll my eyes from. He likes that the lock’s click shot from the door by itself and begins to strip from his tight denim and leather immediately.

“You wanna get banged out real good by Daddy, baby boy?” The smell of his pride violated my twitching nose. This is not my thing, honestly. Not with a stranger, at least. My involuntary smile never left where it had landed. I took a deep breath and cut myself off halfway, playing it like a hitch, like a sigh. “Fuck yes, Daddy.”

My worry subsides when he drops his trousers. I wet my lips and grunt, outwardly aroused, and inwardly calm. This is not to be mean. I am simply being honest. I knew I could handle him no matter how hard he wanted to turn me out (or try to, at least). It looked like he was already almost completely erect, and is length was decent but somewhat thin. I was not complaining, no. This was easier to handle in every way. 

I pulled out the drawer that held handcuffs, lubricant, and all of the other kinky basics before crawling on top of my bed. I seductively swayed my hips to tug my briefs down as I moved. In the twinkle of a car mirror I attached to the corner of my dashboard, I see his biceps twitching as he felt himself up, staring intently at my behind. You’re about to get paid for an easy time, Jimin. Relax. Enjoy it.

“Oh, hell yes...” His bass filled the room as he thrust himself toward my body, burying his face into the crevice of my backside. He parted warm, sizable orbs with his heavy hands and began to swirl his tongue along my sensitivity, the first ring of muscles twitching incessantly. I couldn’t help the acute moans which fell from my throat unabashed, immaculate pucker throbbing as its pinkness was lapped at and swirled inside of. I almost remembered and wanted to make something of the papers of health but blocked it out of my mind. My courage was well-founded, and fuck, this was good.

I felt his dark shaft dragging along the firmness of one of my defined calves, his dangling hips rotating slowly against my leg. Why would a man of such money be so desperate? Damn it, Jimin. Shut the philosophy up. He’s probably just a closet case... What crude words inspired by unadulterated pleasure. He shoved his tongue deeper inside of me and I felt like I was falling forward. I practically choked, stubble on his chin stimulating my substantial sack.

All was good and dandy, but he pulled back, and he wanted his fuck. Was I ready? Does it ever matter? He poured slick along his throbbing length and brought it up to my hole; only the first entrance was gradual. The rest of his motions were rough, but I could handle how he harassed my tightness. He was getting himself off with me, and I felt hot. When his weight shifted to the left, I was confused. When the sole of his foot pressed itself against the back of my head and pushed my face down into a pillow, I was shocked.

I felt rocked to my core, aloof. I might not have hated it if I was prepared, but it was so sudden. There was no communication, and it was sloppy. The angle was awkward but I focused on the feeling of his balls dragging against one of my ass cheeks to distract myself. My prostate was far from his path, but he was certainly enjoying the atypical angle. My moans were of discomfort and preoccupation. I heard him repeating the same terms of endearment and dirty phrases like a mantra. “You love Daddy’s fat cock, baby boy...” I would name multiple, but that’s all I heard. 

I repeated the name incoherently, louder and louder in hopes that he might finish. I think that if Yoongi brought me a box of chocolates, I would call him that if he really wanted it. Maybe I should sort through the issues I have with my father, and then I’ll be super into it. Aren’t people into that if they have issues with their father, though? A mystery, an enigma. I grunt and roar as my mind disassociates from my body once more, and by the time his phallus is flooding my naked pucker, his foot is back below my own.

I struggle to catch my breath. He lays down on top of me, still inside, and finally kisses me, pecking at my neck. My phone, which I forgot to hide in the bathroom, buzzes on the nightstand beside my head. 

**Jungkook:** _I miss you!! When can I see you???_

I saw Namjoon roll his eyes in the reflector and felt him pull out suddenly. He slowly moved to collect his clothes, leaving me dripping of his mess. I was hard. “Thanks, baby.” His voice was deeper than before, but it wasn’t sexy. It was cutting. Too straightforward, business. A guy nuts, and then he wants out. I was used, and I asked for it. Before the screen went black, Yoongi’s name appeared as a caller. I answered after my guest left, and he spoke first.

“This cash is fake. Is he still with you?”


	6. What Pride Had Wrought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin’s recent problems are solved, and with celebratory garnish at that. The escort has reason to be suspicious of Yoongi and his family, but bathes in his own sin in the meantime.

I didn’t sleep well, that night. In my dreams, I saw the graves of my loved ones. Instead of names, I was left with the greatest vices of dead bodies to remember them by, chiseled into headstones. Left guessing. I’m not smart enough to think in my dreams. The first thing I realized when I woke up was about how these guilty boundaries are inventions. When I was still asleep, the words constantly changed. There were many plots, but I found myself fixated on one. I stared for so long because I knew exactly who laid lifeless beneath my feet when I squinted and recognized the message. Loud and clear. One man’s biggest flaw. His greatest sin.

_Loving Park Jimin_

Washing the cold sweat from my body was uncomfortable. It clung to my pores and encouraged me to shave the trimmed darkness from the pits of my arms entirely. I took the razor to my skin like a photographer during touch-up, making sure that every inch was spotless. I might not be perfect, and I might fuck up, and some people might think I’m ugly, and I might over-think a lot, and I might be annoying, but I’m going to maximize my potential. My hotness potential. My production potential. My fiscal potential.

I sat in a buck naked pose, legs crossed in front of a full body mirror Yoongi bought for me. I was plucking my combed eyebrows, which were tastefully my natural hair color with a hint of auburn. My stomach growled, which meant there was no risk of spoiling my secure comfort. A banana might be nice, though. Practically meditating, my breath hitched every time I felt a brief twinge of pain, but I was practically half-asleep. The sun had risen hours ago, but with few clouds in the sky, it was a beautiful day out. None of my windows were open, of course, because I didn’t want to let pollen in. Or insects. Either really, because I hate hav—

A knock on the door. I jumped to my feet in one fell swoop, knowing that the person standing there heard me stumble. “Just a minute!” My acute voice snapped politely. Quickly, I pulled a jumper three sizes too big for me out of my closet, sliding the dark, medium fabric over my head. Entirely nude beneath it, it covered my broad torso, bulky arms, and fell down to my thighs midway. No one knocking on _my_ door could expect anything less or more. 

It was the crook’s bodyguard. Great. Why hadn’t I checked the peephole, first? I was going to get beat up like this. Jumped. Killed? He was smiling, though. He was so cute. There was no way that security let him in with malicious intentions. He carried a black suitcase in one hand and wore a tee shirt and jeans. Quite a typical look. He introduced himself happily, making me like him about as much as I thought I would, and certainly much more than his friend whose existence angers me.

“Hi, my name’s Seokjin. I have something for you.” He held the package out and opened it. Bricks. Rubber band stacks. An appropriate amount, of course. He was so blunt, so straightforward. Polite, but he didn’t waste time with extra formalities. No surplus to beat around the bush with. He closed it again and handed the weight to me. I put it down near my feet, against the wall beside the door. This was it. The adrenaline coursing my veins signaled the corruption of a champion. Every manner my mother had ever taught me was extinguished. What I want right now is to pretend I’m in a porno, and I’m not filtering my own desires anymore. 

“You’re his guard, aren’t you?”  
“More of an adviser.”  
“Don’t you have his best interests in mind?”  
“Yes, I do.”  
“Then why did you come back to pay someone he successfully scammed?”  
“Because the last thing anyone wants is to have a target on their back.”

A target? I quirked a brow, and he continued. Seeing my curiosity and not seeing my hidden endowment.

“The Min folk are powerful, of course. Namjoon is just an underground rapper. He values life.”  
“What the fuck?” Shit, I just said that out loud. He laughed, though, so I silently invited him in by taking a step back. I was smiling too. 

I could hear Yoongi’s voice now. Oh, you fuck around now, huh? And I’ll say: Heard you shoot first and wonder later, yourself.

Maybe I was heartbroken. Reeling. How often do I think about heartbreak? It’s almost like I want Yoongi to hurt me. Well, in some ways, I do. Life would be a lot easier. I can’t keep sleeping with guys until he sleeps with someone else. I’d probably off myself, after hearing that. And then it struck me again. Home, sweet home. A fresh dose of apathy to satiate my appetite. I’m gonna have sex with a man I just met, and it’s gonna be great. Even just feeling his cock pulsate would be heaven.

“You came all the way over here the morning after. That’s respectable.” I closed the door behind him. He was significantly taller than me, and I started calculating my own intuition like a checklist. I wanna boy I can climb like Everest. I wanna boy who gives me lots of money, whether it’s his or not. I wanna a boy with plump lips. I wanna boy who will hit me when I want it; who knows how to shut up and have his mind blown, too. 

Hell, I want them all.

“I try my best to be a respectable man.” I let him finish the sentence before grabbing a hold of his bulge. A rough, demanding palm full of flaccid dick. He shivered and grunted in surprise so hard that it sounded like a cough. I shot back thoughtlessly. “Maybe I can pay you back, for being so thoughtful.” And careful, too.

How pliable he was - it was scary. Maybe he was simply a sex positive, single young man who saw his opportunity. Or maybe he was dating someone, and just as willingly as I didn’t ask, he never bothered to tell me. Maybe he’s unfaithful, maybe he’s a cheater. Maybe men are just fickle, controlled by their sex drive. Evil? Maybe I was evil. Maybe I loved it.

He pulled his own shirt off, and my wet tongue attached itself to a nipple. I sucked at the pert flesh and flicked my muscle along its edges between agile sounds of anticipation. My hands made quick work of his pants, moving faster than I could comprehend the location of his zipper of the fabric of the bottoms. His smooth, curved cock bounced free, and I caught its upward erection between my warm palms. 

Feeling his balls jump up against the bottom of my hand every time I pumped his leaking shaft was phenomenal. I was so on edge, shocked from my own attraction, that I became hypersensitive. We locked lips and I swore he was blushing, probably overwhelmed at the scene. I doubt his ‘affiliate’ often allowed him such an adventure. I doubt Namjoon shared his games, but that aspect was irrelevant. I wanted to please a man who wasn’t expecting it. A man who paid for it but didn’t plan on fucking. I wanted a man who, as obviously as Seokjin did, wanted it. Who wanted the surprise; who saw the surprise and fell in love with it immediately.

We danced. Royals in discussion. He didn’t ask for a single thing, so I wasn’t giving him much. My breath, my tongue, my mouth. It was all a tease. The expertise of my smooth palms, my skilled, familiar, passionate fingers. I lifted my sweater, held the bottom of it in my mouth like a pet, and let him shoot ropes all over my chiseled abdomen. The copious ejaculate dripped down, coating my own ignored endowment and dirtying my thighs. The amount, the power, the speed, the force. He didn’t need to say it, but he did. 

I was the best, ever. The best hand job. The best sex. The best orgasm. And all I said was: “Stay in touch.” A kiss on the cheek, my number on his phone while he so subtly stood there. 

Not if, but when he comes back, he better bring more cash. He’ll be one lucky boy if he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure Seokjin will join the ~recurring supporting characters~ list alongside Jungkook. Namjoon will too, as a minor muse who aids the story. It’s nice; I like all of the dynamics they offer. This chapter is playing with me.


	7. Pieces of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoongi confronts Jimin about Seokjin. Their relationship evolves. Later, Jungkook asks for a big favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Working title: Do It Again)

Seokjin left after saying goodbye. I pulled my sweater off before it could touch my soaked lower body. How erotic and dirty, to be covered in another man’s semen. I had work that night, so the art piece adorning my thighs would have to be erased eventually. I had spent maybe ninety seconds by myself, glancing through my closet for a change of clothes, thinking about buying a computer with that money, when I heard rattling at my door. This wasn’t a knock, or even a tap. Someone was keying into my room. My eyes had time to widen, my heart had time to panic, but my physique didn’t have time to move, to react, before Yoongi barged through. He used his manager access to get in. Is that a conflict of interest? An abuse of power?

My soul dropped into my stomach. It was a density that felt like nausea. This was it. I wish he’d just beat me to a pulp instead of telling me we’re through. My emotions always showed themselves through masochistic escapism. Just punch me. Hit me. It’d be faster, easier. It’d hurt less. I fucked up. I touched someone when I didn’t have to. I’d rather be dead than have this certain conversation. Massive dread washed over me. I was cleaned in spiritual black tar. He slammed the door and I waddled to stand before him, coated in Seokjin’s release, still semi-erect. He must have seen the man leaving my room, if he hadn’t been the one to let him in to begin with. Get it over with, Jimin. It’ll only get worse the more you dwell on it without acting.

My doe-eyed gaze only shamefully shifted their center of affection from his broad feet to those dark brown orbs, which I love. My fear intensified when I saw that he was smiling. My understanding of the crevices along his round face became confused. Maybe I finally broke him. This is what it must feel like to be hunted, and I am the prey. My frame still, my breath worthless. The entropy of our relationship was infinite, and finally, the worry might recede. I might cry instead of brood. I might bleed. Washed over in superficial peace, I caved and surrendered to my predator.

Suddenly, I’m overcome. I was on my back a minute later, blood rushing to my head. He pushed me down onto the bed. I heard him swiftly pulling the belt from his waistband and discarding his clothing as quickly as possible. I arched my back, facing the mirror on my dashboard. Head upside down, I saw it. He left a tear along the neck of his shirt just to get naked faster. He crawled on top of me and forced his tongue into my mouth, stalling until my breath ran short. Taking lukewarm cum along two of his fingers, he only pulled his tongue back when he was ready to replace it, shoving them onto my lips for fun. Another man’s sperm on Yoongi’s fingers. Was this a jealous fuck? Was it going to get worse? 

Did I like it, or not?

When he finally pulled his hand away from my chin, I coughed, and swirled my tongue around my previous fuck’s fluids to swallow them more easily. For a minute, we made eye contact. Yoongi and I. I took comfort in his stare; it was still protective and caring, if not manic in its attention. He didn’t look mad. He looked happy. He looked like he wanted to hold me, slap me, suckle upon my flesh like an icon. He looked like he wanted to worship me. He looked content. Horny, aroused, like a kid. I smiled, and I was brave.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re a gang-banger?”  
“I prefer the term street entrepreneur.”  
“Oh, is that it?”  
“There’s something else I gotta tell you, baby.”  
“Dare I ask, Yoongi?”  
“I like it when you fuck guys. It makes me rock hard. Makes me wanna fuck you more. I wanna watch. I wanna fuck you.”

I laughed out loud as he buried his face into my neck, kissing me all over but not sucking too tight. No marks, but he might like the marks that. Another man. Leaves. He might. The heat rose back up from my stomach and populated my heart; I felt lightheaded, dizzy, and somehow, aroused. I spent days dwelling over complications, fears, paranoia, anxiety, skyrocketing depression, lighthearted suicide ideation, and for what? His words grew less graceful, like he wasn’t trying to impress me anymore. Like we were married to the early morning, to a certain feeling of security, and to each other. Like suddenly, everything was going to work out. Like we got on as if it were our first date, like he really did tell me he loves me. Like I love him too; like it’s gonna work.

Because Yoongi’s a cuckold.

Is that what this entire thing was all about? He wanted to know I was fucking other people? He wasn’t fucking other people. He wasn’t cheating on our bullshit. He wasn’t even looking for a reason to. I could feel it, the way he throbbed. How needy he was, slamming his hips against mine just to slide his dick back and forth against my perineum. He wanted my body badly. I could tell by the way he bucked. He might be pleasuring himself, but this is a relationship only of total convenience to me, and of honesty. The light hit me, then. Yoongi would never lie to me, and I’ve never kept a secret from him. We’ve both known everything the entire time, but my mind was generating stupid ideas. My jealousy barked.

“You can’t touch anyone else, unless it’s with me.”  
He grunted like it was a no-brainer, but he was too busy shoving his member against my dirtied thighs in response. My dirtied mind replied.  
“Maybe you should just rig my room.”  
“I’ll get you a laptop with a camera, instead. And a mic.” He smiled, slapping one hand down against my waist. I whispered.  
“Baby.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Are you gonna fuck me?” 

The pride returned. I knew how seductive I sounded. My voice was ethereal and soft. I grabbed a bottle of lubricant from beside my phone on the nightstand, uncapping it and warming plenty of slick on my palms. Gliding my hands together, I made sure the slime was body temperature before pushing my touch south, cupping my lover’s phallus and stroking him loudly. His audible moans were nonstop because of the preparation. The resulting hypersensitivity had him writhing from my touch. I cupped his sack briefly, and found that remembering who covered my stomach made things even more erotic. This was what Yoongi would have wanted. Me thinking about Seokjin. He took the lead.

“Was he bigger than me?”  
Silence as I wiped my hands on his shoulder blades and then grabbed a hold of his lower back.  
“No, but he was hotter.”

An abstract myth, a potential lie. He was definitely taller, but that felt too superficial. It wasn’t powerful enough to make Yoongi act like this. He snapped his hips forward and had the veins in my neck tensing as I screamed. He was too big to be moving with such strength, even despite the familiarity our bodies shared, but I held on tight and pushed my hips against his. He had territory to mark. His own charmed job to spoil himself with.

The sound of his hung balls clapping against my backside filled the room. I could feel him abusing the lubricant as it became frothy and as white as his premature ejaculate. He wrapped one arm around my head as if to brace me still, the other’s soft hand stroking my cheek and then miming as it wrapped around my throat. Missionary position might seem plain to most, but it was enticing like this, where he would kiss me. Use me. I would throb around him, tightening myself, and I could taste his breath when he moaned into my mouth.

“You’re so big.” I whimpered, with five extra words to feed his libido. I knew how to make him tick more than anyone else. Fact.   
“So much bigger than Namjoon.”

Between the way he rocked my bed and shook my figure, I never had time to swallow my own spit. It was impossible to steady my throat when an involuntary moan escaped after every slam. I was at his mercy. It had been so long for me, and now, as he roughly abused my prostate, I saw speckles of white. My special bundle of sensitive nerves throbbed and contorted against him. He was so big, thick, long, wet. I felt his heat filling me again and again, never pulling out entirely. I was on the edge, and the gradual sensation of his stomach grinding against my shaft, pressing it against my own stomach in personal, intimate friction—

Everywhere. I saw stars, and I came all over myself. He sheathed himself inside of me when he had his orgasm. My tight body felt every inch twitching; I felt his heavy load pumping out of his cock, inch by inch, and shooting deep inside of me, filling me to the brim. Marked. Barebacked. Bred. This was the height of his lustful power, the most dominant and controlling. This would define everything else, put a glass ceiling and a roof over the head of his many masochistic and submissive thoughts. Today set a precedent. He had me, and I had him.

With the weight of Yoongi surrounding me from above, I smiled. This is how we kissed for the first time, and the feeling of a man on top of me like this has become a fetish in and of itself. I find myself desiring it often, and if I could get it with the boy who made it all happen, the smile would never leave my face. Even flaccid, his impressive endowment filled me, his heavy load deep inside. Finally, sex that wasn’t just a mess. A sloppy passion I could cherish.

My phone vibrated, déjà vu, and I turned my head lazily to see _his_ name. I never texted him back, did I? 

I mumbled the message aloud.

**Jungkook:** _My mom kicked me out D: Can I stay with you today??_

Yoongi laughed. I didn’t.


	8. Slumber Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin and Yoongi are better than they’ve ever been. Jungkook teaches Jimin that stability is only the temporary lack of activity.

I think that the smell of unopened manufactured goods is that of petroleum. I always referred to it as the scent of plastic. It was glorious no matter what you called it. It hinted at a headache but always came alongside immense bliss. I pulled the laptop out of its Styrofoam frame, uncovering its matte, black body from plastic sheets. I tore into them like it was Christmas morning, only it was just dusk on a random day in November instead. Yoongi’s hands grasped my neck, massaging my shoulders absentmindedly while repeating himself like an only hesitantly happy husband.

“Do you like it? I did a lot of research. You’ll love it, baby. You do, right?”  
“I love it. I love it.”

The words are so comfortable rolling off of my tongue that I say them twice, plump fingertips tracing the extraterrestrial logo adorning the front of the computer. My computer. When I opened the lid and pressed the power button, the keys illuminated automatically. They were all glowing a beautiful cyan, and my eyes widened as I read the pamphlet. I can change the color however I want. I can tuck it aside to charge during shifts. I can download games and updates while I’m asleep. I can write on it, get a tablet to draw. I can record with my guitar, if I ever become brave enough. I can play stay up all night playing an MMO again. I wanted TERA already.

Freedom. I made my new prized possession its own space on my empty desk. The walk-in closet was filling up fast. All of my belongings were there, all of the good stuff. The door was locked while clients were in my meticulously decorated room. It was all a matter of convenience. I loved the small spaces, the compartmentalization of privacy and professionalism. I needed to remove a few pieces of clutter. Yoongi wasn’t one of them, despite him stepping out a moment later. I stood and followed.

He’s been in my room since our beautiful epiphany, but now is nightfall, and his brother is picking Jungkook up at a coffee shop he took off to. It won’t be long before they return. 

I play with the hem of the shirt I wore. It was his, and it fit me accordingly. Tight. I didn’t mind showing off so much, at least around him. And I didn’t mind being big, or bigger. He was slender and short, but I loved him. I liked the role reversal. When a small dude has a huge dick and he bends your larger self over in general, you’re either totally self-conscious or feeling completely erotic. I’d prefer the latter, wouldn’t you?

It’s seldom a choice, but I’m confident with him. We linger by the door as I take his damaged top off and hand it to him, turning around to grab my own loose-fitting pajama pants. I am content in departing from him for the evening so that I can handle my young friend’s issue uniformly. Yoongi agreed that now was not a time to peep, although doing so with a customer is something he looks forward to. I slid the thin fabric over my muscular lower limbs easily.

The look on his face was somewhat serious. We had settled so many issues, and talked about so much, but there was still the matter of one thing. I told him how Namjoon went. He understood why I was uncomfortable, and we agreed that when you’re getting paid, there’s only so much you can do. But he noticed my attitude, my behavior in line-up, my nature in the new role. How I lived in the mysterious apartment complexes which were always beneath his home. I told him I missed sleeping with him, but he had business on the brain. It was about my comfort, and my safety.

“You gotta do something for me, now... Keep your own interests in mind, baby. Don’t let any of these men walk all over you. Specially the ones who you have in the palm of your hand. Keep them wanting you, and keep them feeling inferior. Make that money, have fun with it. Use sex like a weapon. Make me proud.” He kissed my lips, holding the back of my head. Intense eye contact again, and then a peck to my cheek, a slap to my ass, and he left. He sounded like a master. I wouldn’t mind having a loyal pimp.

It seems like I can finally rest my head on something real. Huffing a sigh of relief, I felt safe. Yoongi loves me, and he isn’t mad at me, or jealous. The crush, the affection, whatever. It’s secure and no longer a worry. I was in a problem-solving mood. The ginormous rift separating my family from my surroundings wasn’t something I had time to take care of right now. When Jungkook knocked on the door, I decided to apply Yoongi’s advice and to address the situation however I felt best. No holds barred.

“That was him?” Jungkook asked, his voice happy but surprised. Why was he smiling? Where was the emotional duress? “Why is he so short?”  
"He has a big heart, and he loves me.”  
“And?”  
“And he’s hung, I don’t know what to tell you. Now shut up, get in here.” I wave my childish friend inside and he quickly obliged. Not all of us can be so tall. Then again, I don’t envy much about Jungkook right now. He’s looking me up and down and I remind him that this is an hour of crisis.

“Why did your mom kick you out?”  
“She said I need to marry a girl and I told her ‘no promises’.”  
“That’s it?”  
“Well... she wants me to get a job, too. I failed the university test.”  
“Alright, well, you should find something to do. Why would a mother kick her son out over that, though? You’re only eighteen!” 

I walked over to my bed and sat at the edge. The irony in my words hurt. He joined me and let his head drop before continuing.

“It’s the sex thing.”  
“But she fucking took you here, didn’t she? She contacted me personally.”  
“I think she thought I was going to tell her I didn’t want to.”

Is there a polite way to tell someone that their parent is batshit crazy? Controlling, selfish, narcissistic to the point of being disturbingly invasive and practically perverted. My body hunched forward and I felt like I was rocking on a set of swings near the edge of a steep hill. The base supports would lift off the ground whenever I push my legs out. They wouldn’t topple if I brought my body back fast enough. If I didn’t, I’d tumble forever.

This was guilt. I knew I couldn’t send him back to his mother. Not now. But I couldn’t exactly keep him in my room. I’m not a college student, I’m a hooker. An escort on a good day. I had _just_ enough room to live comfortably. Nothing more, nothing less. 

The Mins lived in a former landlord’s apartment. Below, where we lived, used to be a series of motel rooms. It was cheap housing for those who could hardly afford it. At times, it was funded by the government. Yoongi’s parents decided to buy the entire place and have it refurbished like a getaway for young people who didn’t have a whole lot of money. When they passed away, his older brother—who flunked out of school—brought his girlfriend in to turn out tricks. She had friends, made connections, and now, this. Us. All of us.

I knew a few of my coworkers, but Yoongi made it sound like most never stayed for more than a month. There were something like twelve rooms, and about half of those were occupied. If Jungkook could find it in himself, discipline, and could focus on working enough to pay off these living expenses, he could live here. 

With any other job, I would never consider it. If he fucks up, it will make me look bad. The difference here is that I’m incredibly close to the businessman and his family. Yoongi will understand. 

“You wanna work here?”  
He didn’t even think about it. Beaming, he asked: “Really?”  
I picked my phone up without replying, calling Yoongi’s older brother and exchanging a few short words. Nothing new. I hung up and put the device back on my nightstand.  
“Sleep with me tonight, and we’ll figure something out tomorrow. Everyone’s going to bed.”  
Jungkook bit his lower lip. “What’s the catch?”  
“That you’re the big spoon.”

He clung to me, a bear hug, and started crying. When Park Jimin feels overwhelmed by your emotions, there’s something wrong. The good news is that I would no longer be the most melodramatic person in the building. The bad news is that Jungkook’s reputation was on my hands, and I would likely have to train him. The ugly news is that he’ll want to fuck, and I just don’t have it in me, or my balls, to spare that much nut when I’m not working. Yoongi only gets a passion load when he’s lucky. 

He stuck his hands down my pants, and I slapped at his palm. My glance spoke for itself. Behave now and it’ll pay off later. The rest was much needed, I was not so crippled by desire that I was about to take advantage of someone like this, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to.

I’m tired of sex.


	9. Legendary Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jungkook’s first day of business is wild. Jimin always finds something, or someone, to contemplate.

I can’t lie and say that Jungkook didn’t look good. Then again, I thanked myself for the innovation. He was dressed like a go-go boy, in purely black sneakers and a matching pair of brief-like shorts which looked like latex. They hid nothing. He crossed his hands over his crotch with a nervous smile, pacing into my room from across the hall, where he lived now. His walls were plain and dark blue, but that was an issue for later. Right now, I was determined to have his body stand out instead. He had a cute face and a physique full of beautiful qualities. He was tall, he had a nice package and attractive quirks which scattered across his limbs. Arms with smooth but fine musculature, the modelesque definition of veins. Long legs to suit many purposes. He had a strong core, and nice abs, but they weren’t his high point. I wasn’t going to get into his torso and thighs. His ass wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good enough. That wouldn’t win him a buyer.

Not with me standing there.

“You almost look like you belong in a Justin Timberlake video. Almost. Just be a little more suave.” I tried to connect to him.  
He broke his grin and flashed a frustrated pout. “What do you mean!?”  
“You have to be sexy. Don’t just look it, be it.”  
Radio silence. I continued.  
“Own your strengths. I know you have them.”

Standing on the tips of my toes, I contorted his cheeks with my fingers. Finding his dimples and his cheekbones, gliding plump tips along the contour of his jaw. I should have gotten that makeup I saw when I was out with Yoongi. Something subtle and risk free. It’s hard to know what will stay on during this job and what won’t. You can never know for sure. Nothing’s certain. Specially not Jungkook. His questions were endless.

“Do you think I’ll top, or bottom?”  
“Hard to say. Keep an open-mind.” He was biting his lip. I flicked his wrist. “What would you prefer?”  
“I don’t know!”  
“You’re getting paid to have sex. Just enjoy it.”

I mirrored advice that I had received. Hopefully he doesn’t crack under the pressure. I’ve taught him how to dress, move, and speak. He knows how to follow his own passion. How he can rely on the porn brain, because that’s what most people come here for. I told him how to be an active listener and what shortcuts to look for. I think he’ll be fine. I just want to know that he’ll be fine. I didn’t bring him here to emotionally break him. I don’t want to mentally wear him down. This isn’t my business. 

I just want to help.

Nothing will make you feel grateful about your own logical competence than someone who struggles. It’s a cruel thought, but it’s a cruel world. I’ve already developed enough of a protective urge for this kid, I don’t need to justify my feelings when they are selfish. I’m focusing so much on making sure things go well for him that I’m not preparing myself. My body is immaculate, as per daily rituals, but I’m standing there naked, and now, as I align his entire life and pack a goody bag to boot, he questions me further.

“Why are you naked?”  
“Because I have thick legs.” I grin and turn around, my apparel laid out across the bed. White spandex shorts and a red crop top, the perfect cool shade to match my hair. The jogging shoes are a blend of both colors. It’s quick, because I’m getting lazy. This is only my third line-up, but every single one has been a ride thus far. I’m slowly coming to rely on the same actions, the same words. It’s still fun enough.

Tonight, it’s us and two girls. My hopes are high, but it all depends on who shows up. I must say, I’m wanting another personal contact. Hopefully not one who ends up working with me again, but I still find it convenient. Odd, that Jungkook was a customer recently. Odder that I’ve had sex with him. It takes me a minute to even remember what happened when I rode him. I remember and praise myself accordingly. The days are blending in, the sex is losing its impact. I find myself craving something more powerful, more out there. Anything to break up the monotony. 

I spent an hour and a half comforting Jungkook about his mother last night. I feel bad, but I can’t instruct someone on how to repair a unique relationship with their parent. I don’t have a relationship with my own parent. I haven’t seen my father in a couple years. My mom doesn’t want to see me right now. She found out Yoongi and I were romantic and sexual by reading my written journal. That was my first mistake, keeping a physical copy of a diary. I wrote in it at school, that’s why. She told me to get out because she was mad. She called me a week later and told me that she would love me no matter what, but that she was upset. She couldn’t accept that. I told her to fuck off. I still feel bad. 

I cried about it. I still do. Yoongi told me that it isn’t my fault. That she isn’t a good mother. But you can’t help what you feel for your kin. They say those bonds run deep, subconsciously. They run in the family. Maybe it’s natural. Survival. I don’t have the luxury to consider it. I’m somewhere else, now. 

I put my laptop on my wardrobe and discreetly open its lid. Facing my bed, the high angle will give its camera a clear and hidden view of most of my room. Yoongi will enjoy this thrillingly theatrical and voyeuristic perspective. I feel content, and even safe, from knowing that it’s there.

We turn to leave the room and walk out into the lobby. Instead of guests, Yoongi’s older brother is standing there. He speaks to the four of us quietly.

“Two young guys, college-aged. I don’t know what they like, but the payment is typical. I told them we had a mixed roster and they both looked excited. They don’t know if they want a threesome or not. The one with the orange hair, his name is Taehyung. The brunet is Hoseok. Remember that, okay?”

Was he trying to hype Jungkook up to the point of cardiac arrest? He never did this before. Why would two dudes with average payout be special? 

They walk into the room, and I absolutely, positively cannot lean over and tell Jungkook to handle the one with his sleeve in his mouth. Taehyung. We cannot look like we’re gossiping right in front of them. That’s painfully unprofessional. So I stand, and smile. I can practically smell it on the awkward lad. He wants to get fucked. I don’t mind being on top, but not with a shy kid like that. The other one looks awkward, but his smile is wide, and he’s looking around fairly. Giving us all a chance.

Let me tell you something. Most guys can fuck a girl if they really want to. If they stop jacking off three times a day. It’s when they wanna fuck a guy that they go to a whorehouse. 

The ladies return to their rooms, and Taehyung inches close to Jungkook already. Jungkook smiles at him and reaches in to touch him, but I shoot him a death stare, and he remembers that he isn’t at a club. He’s working. I feel like a veteran, here. Powerful. The most extroverted. The most capable of fluent, articulate socialization, so I speak up.

“One room, or two?” I don’t necessarily want a busy room, but the possibility of a foursome was rampant and promising. It would be a new experience, it’d make them more likely to be repeat customers. It’d guarantee that I’m getting work tonight, and to be honest, it’d make great film for my boyfriend’s spank bank.

They explained that they weren’t students but rather roommates. Taehyung’s aunt married Hoseok’s uncle, so they met at family gatherings and ended up renting an apartment in the neighborhood together. Taehyung only works at a local gas station, but Hoseok’s a new businessman, so he makes decent enough money to sponsor their trip here. We’re all in the hallway, walking back to my room, and they finally initiate their own dialogue. Or at least one of them does. Hoseok clears his throat before speaking.

“My best friend told me about you.” He’s looking at me. I laugh, throwing my head back as I let our guests inside of my humble abode. Of course this unnamed man did. I’m unforgettable.  
“And who might that be?”  
“Kim Seokjin.”

Bringing me more money than he had to. Bringing me money at all. Letting me play with his dick until he bust. And now, this. Bolstering my business? He really does want this ass. That’s charming. I’m flattered. Thrilled, even. I’ll have to give him a call later. Give him what he wants.

Jungkook pushes his sneakers off and then hits the ground running, jumping onto my bed and rolling onto his back. As Taehyung shyly undresses, Jungkook cups his own package and eyes him up and down. The boy begins to lighten up. In nothing but their underwear, they end up on top of one another, kissing and hugging, grinding and groaning. There’s enough room on my bed, but I worry given how excited Jungkook gets. He’s already gasping when he feels how big Taehyung is, sticking his hands down the customer’s pants without asking. The frottage which ensued was hardly surprising. 

Pulling my shirt off, I turn to Hoseok who was equally entranced and intrigued by the sight. Kicking my shoes to the side, he’s stripping at a decent speed, but only as if it were business. He isn’t passionate, no; he’s partially folding his clothes and dropping them next to the door in a slightly off-track pile. It’s my job to get him excited. Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and our faces become closer. “What do you need, my man?” I whisper softly as he begins to blush, and I keep myself composed in order to be as outstanding as possible.

It was only a matter of time before we were all on the bed together. Jungkook rested on his back, legs spread and hands behind his head as his matched companion rode him. Taehyung’s acute moans echoed throughout the room as the taller’s decent length filled him to the brim. The shy boy was probably a standoffish virgin up until now, but judging by the way his hands groped Jungkook’s pectorals and glided along his slender arms, he certainly wanted a change. 

Their chorus of moans set the standard, a background music of expectations as Hoseok had his way. I laid on my side, and his legs straddled one of my thighs as I held my other leg to my chest. Here, he was stimulated fully. This is what he wanted. His cock at an angle that could put itself inside of me entirely, and his sack in a position where it could drag along my muscular thigh every thrust. The upper limb not positioning myself rested by my side, so I used its soft palm to grope his balls while his crotch pounded into me.

I wasn’t particularly aroused, but I was rather excited. I moaned for him anyway, beautifully. This was something very new in many different ways, and I got off on seeing how immersed Hoseok was in his own bliss. I felt him start to cum, and he hesitantly moved away. I grabbed his shaft and stroked it against my gaping pucker instead, letting him drip down my thigh and then pushing him back inside. There, his moans were more sultry than before, less refined or filtered, and he arched his back and prepared his motions to get as deep as possible. 

Meanwhile, the sound of Jungkook filling his mate had grown so slick that I couldn’t tell when he came, bare-backing Taehyung entirely. The customer coated Jungkook’s defined abdomen fairly with his girth. A timely manner. We all laid there, worn out and tired in our own ways. The boys beside me locked lips immediately, deeply and passionately. Hoseok simply said thank you. He was polite. It was endearing. He pulled out and patted my worn out orifice as if to apologize for the mess. I knew just by looking at him that he was hiding something. Nothing insidious, but something deeper.

He had urges. Kinks. I encouraged him to come back and try them out. He stroked my leg and stood up to dress himself. Taehyung whined when he realized they had to leave. “Next time, sleepover.” I said to alleviate Jungkook’s frown. What I really meant was ‘next time, bring more money.’ Hoseok was so withdrawn, though, that I’d probably let him fuck me for free. Poor sod.

They said goodbye, and Jungkook turned to me, as dirtied and tired as I was. He noticed that I was the only one who hadn’t climaxed. I explained that this was common during such sessions, and that it wasn’t always a bad thing. It allowed me to enjoy every minute of it, because if I orgasm, I become uninterested. 

He didn’t like that idea.

I told him to go back to his room, to shower, to be proud of himself, to be glad that he enjoyed it, and to go to sleep. I told him that I would do the same, in addition to changing my sheets, freshening and cleaning the room. And he did; we both did, but only after him making me finish in his mouth. Yoongi was the only one who had ever done that. 

I abused the strength of my upper legs, wrapped them around his head and squeezed him with my thighs. I pushed him down and fucked his face. He gagged, more and more, until I flooded his throat, and he licked me dry and left. I laid out for an extended period of time before going to take a shower, mentally drained and feeling depraved. Warped. I could have held him there until he was half out. Used his sleeping mouth. Slapped him awake and made him keep going whether he loved it or not.


	10. Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin thanks Seokjin for the business promotion, showing his gratitude after briefly learning more about Hoseok.

In my favorite video game, I play a priest. My character runs around and heals people. When I pursue quests by myself, though, it’s harder. Versus the environment, my sustainability isn’t terrible, but it takes me forever to kill things. Artistically, my muse uses spirituality and conviction to smite his foes and to conjure restorative energies. Of all disciplines, I relate to this the most. Only in the land of the academic, or the psychic, would I be more comfortable. But in medieval times, I’d use my silver tongue to put myself into a position of power. I’d make people believe everything I said. Even the cynics would hear a god in my voice. 

Maybe I’ve become comfortable like this. Confident in my talents, whatever skills I have. The expeditions of my mind, and even my burly appearance. I’m blossoming splendidly, making the most of my surroundings. May no opportunity ever be a predicament, or something. I find the silver lining, focus on the positive. Well, it may not always sound like it, but I do. And I will. I’ll appreciate everything for what it is, and focus on what I like.

I love having free time. I have many neglected hobbies. I haven’t drawn or painted anything in the past week, and my guitar case is getting dusty. I rather like being a working man, though. I sit on my laptop and relax when I can, and the fact that I often cannot makes it even more fun when I do. I’m a little adult. I make a rather impressive amount of money, considering my circumstances. I have my own bank accounts, plural. A checking account, a savings account, and a credit card. Yoongi helped me go down to the store and set it up. 

I’m going somewhere in life. Laying face down atop my cozily made bed, I kick my legs and appreciate the freedom of my naked form. The liberty of everything and nothing at all. My industry is now ambition, and I know what I want. I know what I want right now, too. I pick my phone up and write a text message to Seokjin: _come see me._

It is the decadence of total sexual control when he responds affirmatively. He arrives half an hour later, knocking on the door impatiently. Thirty minutes of browsing the web was simple; I put my computer to sleep as soon as I heard his arrival, keeping its camera and microphone on. Sliding it into a familiar position atop my wardrobe, I keep it plugged into the wall outlet and arrange everything perfectly when he taps on the door again. He needs it, needs me so badly. I’m still naked, so I stand behind the frame when I open up, my soft voice echoing. “Come in!”

The happy tone lures him three steps forward, and I shut the mechanical port behind him, smiling as I hear the metal lock mechanism engage. He turns around in surprise, eyes widening and lips agape, shamelessly staring at my shorter, naked build. He’s wearing firm jeans which tighten as the moments passed and a white tank top with red writing. The shirt accentuates his broad-shouldered stance and highlights the musculature of his milky white arms. I think I’m drooling. I forgot how to speak, so captured by lust like a hunter. If I don’t say something now, the encounter will be nothing more than feral sex. And I’m more than willing to fuck like animals, but I have a few things to say first. We can keep it short.

“Your friend’s a bit awkward. Restrained. He’s cute, though.”  
His tongue’s out of his mouth. I want his lips. He swallows harshly and replies.  
“He has a wild side. His ex dumped him for being freaky.”  
“Tell him I’m a freak, too.” 

I stepped toward Seokjin when I said that like an athlete at the Olympics initiating a vault. I have to propel my body forward and upwards, and one of my legs shoots up involuntarily. Its stockiness wraps around his wide waist, and he immediately captures my thigh with one hand. The sound of the palm slapping against my flesh fills the room as my hands grab a hold of his neck, and we kiss sloppily. His back presses against the wall as my slick tongue swirls around his own, and I feel him throbbing against my rear while my shaft drags beneath his shirt. The warmth of his lower stomach is heavenly. 

I’m on my knees, and his groans are guttural, deep, and he’s coughing them up like he can’t control them, His chest is heaving like he just ran a mile in five minutes, and all I have to do is slide my plump fingers up his waist to communicate. He pulls his own shirt off, and the sight of his gorgeously average body is what gets me going. He’s just so big, and as nice as the faint musculature is, it is the largeness of his smooth torso which I want smothering me entirely.

My face presses against his bulge every which way, but I unzip his jeans and pull them down to start the real foreplay. The entirety of his smooth, lengthy girth is throbbing beneath his thin, navy blue boxers. I can feel the warmth, smell the testosterone, taste the musk after opening my mouth and hugging the shaft with my lips. I feel its shape against my nose, my eyes, my cheeks, all over, and now my heart is beating faster and faster too. I could worship his weight like this forever.

I stick my tongue out and his cock bounces free, slapping against my forehead. Premature ejaculate drips profusely there as I suck one of his balls into my mouth and swirl around it expertly. It’s more than familiarity, even more than passion. I hold specific hunger for this man and his glorious phallus, and the wet, tight sloshing sounds speak for me. I’m fulfilling his adult star fantasy, which I know because he’s moaning like he’s in a video, but those sounds are still so whorish, stemming from his gut, that I can tell they’re painfully genuine. My grunts create vibrations and my warm breath stimulates the skin. My sounds get louder on purpose.

Seokjin is actually screaming for me, his indescribable noises as loud as playful banter, as articulate as words. I’m choking on him now, slamming the curvature of his gift deep into my throat. He’s so thick, so long, so absolutely huge. I want to consume it badly. I drool all over it, coating it in my saliva, cupping his sack to milk him further. I’ll give him this if he wants, but he should know that he could have me however he'd like. I move faster and faster, soliciting those heavenly noises. I’m such a sucker for dirty talk that I never knew simply hearing a man breathe could be so arousing.

His fingers thread through my disorderly locks and he loses control. So fixated on the way in which he bulges in my throat, he gently but consistently thrusts with the rhythm of my bobbing head. He sees my muscles tensing as I stroke and caress him through every wet motion, feels my warm mouth and seraphic tongue, notices my plump lips spreading across his balls when I shove his cock down my throat. I can’t believe that I _can’t_ believe it, but his thighs are shaking rapidly. The climax is so intense that it washes over his entire body, and I choke on the first strand shot into the back of my throat. Its momentum was so powerful, its quality so thick and sweet, and he continued to drain himself there, his lower limbs quaking as his hips slid to and fro. 

I pumped and slid the skin above the head and licked every inch clean. Its throbbing, hypersensitive pinkness made him ripe for grunts of wanton relaxation. Before I could slide off of him with a formal pop, he involuntarily falls to his knees, and then on his backside, spine against the wall. He falls out of my mouth and I smile, still on my knees in front of him, hovering above him. I was enchanted with his face, the way sweat laced his hairline, the redness of his cheeks like this. He was still so soft, and an air of comfort radiated off his naked body gently. 

He stared at me throbbing, but I helped him to his feet, his legs still shaky. He leaned on me as I laid him down on top of my bed, pulling his socks off of his feet and tossing the pants around his ankles to the floor. I crawled beside him and laid on my side, rubbing his stomach with one hand as I dared to reach in and kiss his lips more softly this time, expressing an earnest fondness. He told me I was amazing. Said it out loud, that I was the best he’d ever had. By a long shot. He told me he brought money for me, for this. I told him I wouldn't take it unless it was Namjoon’s. He asked me how he could pay me back. I asked him if he liked threesomes.


	11. If It Makes You Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jungkook settles into his new life. Yoongi thanks Jimin for the consideration, and the feeling is mutual. Their love looks like an all-time high.

I should have expected such fluid agreement from Seokjin. Among his natures as a seemingly respectable elder, his willingness to experiment was grand. I chose to assume that he wasn’t just looking for a way to lay around all day by pleasing me like this. He wanted to sleep with me, and with Yoongi. He wanted to be with me... with us. He was still naked, filling my bed with his long limbs, selfish in a thoughtless fashion that I saw as endearing. He clung to me in a way that I enjoyed, rubbing my stomach and pecking my neck. When my erection subsided without orgasm, my crotch became swollen. Later release was not promising enough to stop my mind from gentle guilt, because this was more than physical for him when he laced his fingers above my palm. 

Maybe I’m projecting. After a brief nap, he agrees to give it time and gets dressed. We will rendezvous another day. I don’t kiss him when he leaves.

I went across the hall to check on Jungkook after putting pajama pants on. I was expecting that he’d be awake now, but clearly my knock took him by surprise. He answered the door in his boxers, hair disheveled, swollen face droopy. My eyes caught sight of a body in his bed behind him. It could have lead to an invigorating and frustrating mystery, had it not been for the mop of orange hair which stuck out above the shape of the small body. Blankets covered all else. I looked to the taller with a blank stare.

“You dating, sailor?”  
“No, I went out with him last night.”  
“Dating a customer is a bad idea, Jungkook.”  
“I didn’t charge him.”  
“Yeah, but you’re still an escort. And Taehyung’s an emotional kid.” I might have been making assumptions, but he certainly wasn’t mature. “You don’t want to break his heart, do you?”  
“He knows what I am.” The door shut in my face. 

It was too late for me to be wandering around aimlessly like this. I needed to find someone who wasn’t tired. I moved to the second floor and knocked on the apartment door. Yoongi’s older brother let me in despite the no-employees-allowed-upstairs policy. Maybe he forgot that I worked for him. Maybe it felt like high school never ended to him. Maybe he didn’t care. I walked into Yoongi’s room where he sat at his desktop eagerly, and suddenly, his sibling’s reasoning was the least of my concerns. I announced myself like a servant seeking the praise of former gifts.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed it all.”  
He turned around, surprised. He spoke rhetorically, a devilish glaze painted across his smile. “The tapes?”  
“Mhm.”  
“I have. A lot.”  
“And you heard it all?”  
“The moans, the words.”  
I wet my lips, speaking in unimpressive euphemism. “You let me know when you wanna meet him.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice.” He stood to his feet and pulled me into his arms, kissing my cheek, and then my lips. I fell into his grasp and he tugged me onto the bed, but I only _happily_ laid for as long as it took me to regain the motivation to stand. Despite all of this desire to be alone, I felt painfully comfortable there. I could tell by the look on Yoongi’s face that his fixation was not a superficial attempt at making me feel better about everything. There was nothing for me to worry about or dwell over in our companionship. 

I crawled on top of his slender hips and pulled my pants down without explanation. I would stay for the night and give him the pleasure of his position, stroking him in the same way I touched Seokjin while straddling him faithfully. He kept telling me he loved me, but I didn’t want to hear him. It was a white noise flooding my eardrums that distracted me throughout each kiss. Spontaneously, the murmurs blended together. Every snap, every clap, every slap drew blurred lines. I took him deep and moaned in reckless abandon. He loved every minute of it, thinking I was showing off. Bragging about how good he was at sex to his brothers, about how seductive my enviable figure might be.

Even without my head in the game, he made me cum all over him, and he slept inside of me because I didn’t have the heart to pull away. This was love, true romance. This is what it feels like when the infatuation ages so finely into prime affection. This was a fairy tale. This was a storybook comfort. This was absolutely anything and everything at all, as long as I told myself, reminded myself daily. He asked me if I liked it when I fell asleep so full. The thin sheet of ice masquerading as my emotions melted like nature’s daggers, and I nodded my head despite tears forming as they pierced through my throbbing heart. _So much. Yes. Do it again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is purposefully a bit bland, short, and vague. If the mood feels awkward, think about why. Things are about to go up and down, but I think it’ll be an excellent story.


	12. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin finds the eye of his brewing storm in the bedroom. Jungkook and Taehyung are a constant. Seokjin and Yoongi share their love.

My stomach ached and my pucker throbbed when I pulled away from Yoongi to take a shower. The comfort washed over me in no time as I realized my room offered solace like nowhere else. A lock with keys spread as thin as I was. My door wasn’t protection, but my bathroom was sealed from the inside. You’d have to tackle it down, unless you were in here with me. My body was cleansed, with fingers and streams, and I hummed along with the music my phone played from the sink counter before it stopped abruptly. A ringtone filled the humid air. I told Seokjin I’d call him back.

My hair was starting to fade from a cherry red into a dull amber. When I was shaving my face and slathering products there discreetly, I noticed it. Roots were impossible to see, but the color itself was shifting rapidly. This weakened state was how it would stay until I recolored it, did something with it. It was a lot calmer than I was used to, but I could make it work. I’d compensate for it indefinitely.

Jungkook was starting to get cocky. He had the biggest dick that he’d ever seen, that much was obvious. I didn’t have it in me to break the news to him. I let him be the best without disclosing better. The kid deserves a chance at courage and power, even if it’s seeming so heavy considering where he was at a week ago. I don’t know. Maybe I just grew up too fast. I see so much of our world that he can’t. 

Taehyung is still in his bedroom. I know because I hear the shower run two distinct times within the same hour. The remarkable thing about that is, two runs instead of one long session means they aren’t fucking in there. I bet they just haven’t realized that they can, yet. Jungkook’s concept of the ‘porn brain’ I keep telling him to rely on seems limited. I wonder how many videos he’s even seen. We talked briefly this morning, when I was walking back to my room. Neither of us apologized, but he flirted with me and insinuated that he wanted to hookup sometime soon. No promises.

Sunday is our last day off during a surprisingly long weekend, and I’m already reeling from the quiet. I put on the same pair of briefs that hid nothing and let my ass hang out during line-up, but my body didn’t feel sexy this time. I was squished, but I hadn’t gained weight. I shifted my leg and the colossal structure of my thigh faced the left while my eyes studied the side of my ass. This is what it means to be a normal teenager. I remember it distinctly. 

Yoongi came downstairs to hang out on my bed. Pajama pants and an unbuttoned dress shirt; they looked ridiculous in contrast, but this way I had access. When I laid on my side, facing his ear, I could slide my hand along his abs. I groped him gradually while my other palm kept my phone pressed to my ear, my head against the pillow as I spoke. Seokjin didn’t mind the idea of spending the entire weekend here. I liked that interest. He was on his way, so I spoke up. In our last moments of privacy, I looked for ways to please Yoongi.

“What do you want me to do, hmm? On my knees?” I didn’t dare mention taking them both at once. That was terribly erotic in movies, but in real life, with my orifice—which needed to be tight for my actual _job_ —I think not.  
“Mmm... Just go with the flow, baby...” His voice was so calm and middle of the range. I stood to my feet and stretched my arms and legs, cracking every pocket of air beneath my bones that was accessible. As pliant as I was, I lifted my leg and pressed my foot above my head against the wall, leaning forward to strengthen my thighs before jumping back. The expected light tap on the door brought me forward, and I pulled it open with a smile.

There he was. Tall built, cute faced, broad-shouldered stud. I wanted to hug him, to kiss him, but I felt like a performer. I nodded my head with a smile and waved him in, peeking across the hall at the shut door from which muffled moans emerged. Closing my own with a grin, I took Seokjin’s jacket and hung it up as his eyes met with Yoongi, and they both smiled brightly. 

I felt like such an outcast, despite being the center of all worthy attention. Men can bond over such things, so I am not a man. I am emotional before I am sexual. I am thoughtful before I am physical. Am I a man? What does it mean to be a man? I’ve had this conversation with myself far too many times to still be in this role. I know damn well that I love sex. But I don’t love it this much, to be involved in a fantasy of my partner being taken by others. I don’t love it this much, to put my heart and soul into a couple’s sex life. But I certainly do love it.

Yoongi crawls off of the bed and drops his loose shirt on the way, letting his pants drag down as well. Naked, he can show off his gargantuan endowment and make Seokjin’s eyes widen, cheeks redden, and his stomach drop too. Arousal, surprise, whatever it was, the taller accepted the kiss offered before Yoongi pulled away with a pop. I did say threesome, didn’t I? As in, not a viewing session of me getting fucked by someone I like way too much for the first time in front of my cuckold boyfriend. Because that might be awkward. 

I drop my own briefs naturally, and as Yoongi pulls Seokjin’s shirt off, I work his pants and boxers to his knees, accidentally (as I will claim it) slinking forward and pressing his package against my face while tugging at his socks. How convenient to be like this, and I encouraged them both to kiss again, to interact somehow, by groping both of their thighs while on my knees. Above all else, if I can exclude my anxieties then I can face the facts. Having these two men in front of me like this is the ultimate fantasy.

I wrap each of my warm palms around either of their throbbing shafts and begin to stroke. Guiding their bodies at an angle, I keep pumping the excited members and wait for their figures to shift perfectly. There, I can open my mouth and slide my tongue out atop my agape lower lip. I rub the leaking slits along their swollen heads both against my tongue, and then together over it, dancing in circles. My hands were becoming slick with each of their unique moistures; by now, they had abandoned the kiss, and simply had an arm wrapped around one another’s waist while they watched. All eyes on me.

I don’t have enough hands to handle this in a way that any of us would find totally and independently relieving, but I know that the very erotic act of being with multiple others is enough for them. Stretching my mouth wide, I take them in a very shallow distance, but the expertise of my eager and skillful tongue is enough. It’s swirling around either head, beneath each skin, dragging along pulsating tips. Every stroke that can include them both does, and they each have one of my hands nursing their phallus and teasing at their sack when the temporary chances arise.

It all feels like a film. I slap them both against my tongue when they start to leak, and the mixture of flavors is absolutely lecherous. This is bathing and basking in sin, as I pleasure two men in my mouth. Oh, what my father would think. An instant heart attack. The thought makes me smile as I tune into their moans and groans, the sweet nothings from them both surprisingly comforting. Seokjin’s hand is pushing through my hair, stroking the top and back of my scalp in a perfectly relaxing fashion; Yoongi’s palm is caressing my cheek, the backs of fingers curling to rub against the roundness of my face in a loving and praising manner. 

I’m practically cooing now as I become jelly beneath them, letting my own moving palms trail to their tips so that my hands will become slick. The pumping then becomes louder, and my mouth makes a habit of being quick but providing individual attention. I deep throat the curved smoothness of Seokjin’s throbbing weight, and then trail the mixture of saliva and premature ejaculate over to Yoongi’s veiny, massive girth. My tongue memorizes the shape of each largeness as I continue the back and forth until I’m lightheaded.

I did want something. One thing. Anything, more than this. More than them joining in bliss on my face or in my mouth. It seemed nice. Wouldn’t that be nice? There was something nicer, though. And I said it out loud, only half realizing that I was. My plump lips moved against the heads of their cocks, which I held in front of them. They could feel the tone of my voice like vibrations, its inviting warmth stimulating the flesh that I, myself, made wet. I spoke with conviction. I want my voyeuristic boyfriend to watch me take Seokjin, hard, for the first time. And I want to slobber all over him while he does. 

A spit roast. Absolutely not a graceful art of sex, but it was the epitome of feral lust, and at least this way I knew that I could consider myself a man. This was exactly what I wanted. I wanted to be an animal for these men. These two. Young, virile. I know their feelings and where they’re at. We were on the bed in the blink of an eye. I felt their strengths cooperating. They held me, carried me, suspended me into their shared vision of what my request looked like. Doggy style. A tasteful choice, for my own comfort.

But I lowered my chest instead. I arched my back and let the olive orbs of flesh which adorned my plump rear rise. The immaculate tightness between the inviting globes throbbed, its pinkness enticing and flawless. Let the professional handle this, boys. Yoongi threw lubricant beside Seokjin’s thigh, his throw a quaking curve ball as I took him inside of my mouth instantaneously. The sounds of the taller preparing himself filled the room, and I could tell that he had been waiting days for this by the way he sunk himself deep inside of my pucker instantaneously. 

Yoongi practically shouted. He must have loved the sight of bareback, because he started fucking my throat. Not something I could certainly handle, but I would definitely try. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable, and the overwhelming pleasure I inherited from all of this was not primarily physical. I was mentally content. I would pleasure myself with personal memories of this day for months. Being used like a toy was a masochistic fantasy of mine, and I could not have picked two men from my heart better than Seokjin and Yoongi. 

Seokjin raises his body and slides in from an angle, his shape abusing my prostate, which makes me lightheaded. I choke around Yoongi’s length and he’s shooting a load faster than ever before, filling my throat. I accept the fact that I won’t be breathing for another twenty seconds and swallow it all as my body rocks. Seokjin slams into me one last time before unloading, and his sometimes traditionally quiet reactions reach a peak as he screams and shouts, unloading in my backside. He was made distant but impressively aroused by Yoongi’s presence. There was no kissing here, just filth.

I knew it’d come to this, but I start to check out when Yoongi asks for a turn using Seokjin’s ejaculate as lubricant. He has little mercy as I nurse on our guest’s flaccid length, and I can’t tell if I orgasm, because I start to lose a hold on reality, consciousness overwhelmed, when he starts to slam into that bundle of nerves. He lets loose as I calculate my next laundry run, the fluids sinking down my thighs, creeping toward the sheets. He’s white gloved the bed, because he refuses to stop, Seokjin’s hands combing through my hair as he grows hard again.

I woke up in the middle of the night between them. We were still in my bed. My body was aching, but my lips weren’t dry or dirty, and my backside seemed sore and spotless. My hair wasn’t wet. Maybe I could watch Yoongi’s tapes later, to try to remember what happened. I don’t really mind regardless, but it’s nice that they cleaned me up. Yoongi’s curled into my side, sleeping heavily. Seokjin’s on his back, but one of his arms is stretched out, resting beneath and curled around my neck protectively. Caught between them, this is the happiest I’ve ever been. I know I should be highlighting a gratitude towards Yoongi in my mind, but it’s the thrill of the new that has me anticipating tomorrow. 

Whatever it is, I’ll handle it in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note, related not to the chapter but to the story as a whole (but I’m not updating the introductory disclaimer unless it’s for warnings, because that’s already pretty null and void): you **are** meant to question the narrator. Not that you have to, or that it’s always necessary, or that he’s typically lying, but I do want to encourage this skill of critical thinking. Jimin is definitely presumptuous, and I don’t want readers to assume that his word is law. He is most certainly just a flawed, young person making observations about his world. The verse _does_ have canons, stability, and facts; the characters within it do have feelings about other characters which are sure, but they aren’t always what he says they are. Only I as the writer know the truth. Jimin only knows _his_ truth. Sometimes, he expresses assumptions as fact. Question that. When he says something with conviction that is grounded on or based in nothing at all, think twice about it.
> 
> Anyway. Cheers. :-)


	13. Black Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin receives world-shattering news. No one knows how to console him, including himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, take care of yourself. Don't finish the chapter if you struggle with it.
> 
> Will this story be a comedy or a tragedy? Which would you prefer?

I wake up to total stillness. The sun is still rising, and the world is quiet. Yoongi and Seokjin are still curled around my body in familiar positions, so I lay still, studying my popcorn ceiling with my hands crossed atop my chest. It can’t be a minute past seven, but I can’t fall back to sleep no matter how hard I try. My body is confined, surrounded atop the queen-sized mattress. Our bodies are sweating, our breaths heavy. The natural scent of man fills the air and floods my nostrils. My brain was flexing, throbbing and soaring. My hyperactive memory flickered on, its intensity desperate. I would remember this forever. In retrospect, it must be the defining moment of my life. My dooming dawn.

I’ve never struggled to remember like this. I started making things up, like my Kelly green boxers on the floor, and Yoongi’s golden hair. Seokjin’s arms both curled around my neck and chest now, suspending me in place. I needed to go to the bathroom, to somehow alleviate the mess of knots my stomach was contorted in. The worst part was how I searched to an answer for this madness. Yes, I wanted to have a difficult conversation today. I knew it wouldn’t end terribly, no matter what the outcome. But that wasn’t enough to weigh my heart down like this. I heard a buzzing vibration from beneath my off lamp and quickly reached over to grab my phone. I woke them both up in the process, but I crawled over Yoongi and stumbled to my feet, pacing toward the bathroom and closing the door most of the way. I answered.

She said she was a social worker. I don’t remember her name. I assumed I was in trouble. I spoke minimally. I said I was living with a friend. I said I was unemployed. I said I didn’t worry about money. I said I was fine. I said to leave me alone. My leg was restless. I shook the left one, sitting on the toilet seat. She was hiding something from me. I needed to go to the bathroom again. My heart was racing. I needed to listen to something. I needed to talk to Yoongi. The tops of my feet were rubbing together, the moccasins I slipped on creating a soothing sensation. I was the monkey who chose comfort over nourishment. I chose luxury over death. I chose myself over my family.

My lips started quivering the more she spoke. She asked me if I would be alright. I finally worked up the courage to ask her why she called me. She seemed shocked. Surprised. She felt terrible. I heard the guilt in her voice. My arms were shaking. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Your mother? My mother. The car. An accident. Of course I knew. Of course I knew that my own mother was in a car accident. Of course I knew; that was last night. Yes. Of course I wasn’t sleeping with two men at once. Of course I wasn’t destroying the purity of my relationship. Of course I wasn’t questioning my own decisions. Of course I was struggling. Of course I knew my mother passed away this morning. Of course I knew that her heart failed at 3:45 AM. Of course I knew that she asked to see me. Of course you called me four times. Of course I wasn’t there. 

_You were. I wasn’t._ I get it. I hang up because there’s no use in a government employee hearing me choke on my own saliva. Hearing a grown man unable to swallow. I let my phone fall from my hand like a feather, free falling to the fluffy shower carpet and bouncing twice. The ground was shifting, now. I slid into a crawl and curled into fetal position with an audible thump. I thought that I was distracted by my heartbeat and that I couldn’t cry, until I started crying and couldn’t control it. They were bothered by now, standing in the doorway. I imagine that Seokjin stood in the frame with a blank stare while Yoongi elevated my head in his lap. I heard him keep asking me. Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened?

I couldn’t handle myself until I realized that if he dealt with a quarter of the paranoia that I did, he’s wondering if I felt raped, if I was bleeding or injured by him, if I wanted to die or was considering it. The answer was yes, to all three, but it didn’t matter then, because it wasn’t why he wondered. I was lifeless. My pulsating body, vibrating like a doll. I thought I might choke on my own sadness, drown to death in resentment. How could she do this to me? How could she put herself in danger like that? How could she die? How could she be that selfish? How could she ask for me like she cared? 

What a luxury it is, to be on your death bed. It must be nice, to not have to live with the madness. To kick your own child out and decide that you want them there last minute. Wouldn’t she be in a coma? Is this a joke? It’s not. It’s real. I knew it when I woke up. How could she do this to me? Just leave me here, like this. Without a sorry. Without a chance for me to rip her down from her pedestal. Without me first realizing that she is a human, too. She was a human. Now, she is a body. The wake? The funeral? Her religious ceremonies? Did I have to go, now? Did she do this to torture me? Her only immediate family member, estranged. I would have to see my kin, my father, all of whom I couldn’t bare to be near. All of whom made me feel defeated, helpless. 

Why be such a big part of someone’s life if you plan on leaving it? Why have a child if you’ll die before them? Why make me cry like this, make me sob, make me scream, because you wanted to see me one last time? And what if you didn’t? What if you didn’t say my name with your last breath? How broken would I be, then? Could you ever do right by me? Did I hurt you? Did I destroy you, torture you, do bad by you? Did I do this to you? Did I kill you first? Did I hurt you like that? Should I have faked it? Would you be alive if I faked it? Should I have dumped Yoongi? Should I have done it sooner? Should I do it now? Is that what you wanted?

I’m flailing my arms like a baby now, frustrated with how I fail to speak every time I try. I climb to my knees but hold my stomach and arch over, my lips permanently agape, curled against my gums, and the floor is covered in a pool of me. I grab tissue paper and blow my nose, because there’s no way to avoid the discomfort, the stuffiness, the fullness. I felt like I was choking, drowning. Drowning in the darkest waters imaginable. They were flooding my lungs, tearing me apart. Seokjin was on the ground now. He was holding me up and hugging me. He probably felt like there was nothing else to do. Maybe he felt bad, or awkward. I got it over. I ended the suspense. I finished everything. I said it out loud. Mom’s dead. 

I’m over Seokjin’s shoulder one minute and in Yoongi’s bed the next. Upstairs, where my sobs won’t disturb anyone. Yoongi’s curled up beside me but not touching me, and Seokjin hasn’t left. He’s sitting in a chair beside the end of the bed I’m curled up along. I’m sorry.


	14. Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin copes with the death of his mother and mourns healthily. Jungkook and Taehyung become a supporting force. Seokjin and Yoongi learn what love is. Jimin uncovers a spiritual sense of self-actualization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s confusing at first. Keep reading.

The sirens started in the distance, swollen like a heartbeat. Their echos became clearer the closer they got. I heard the front door get kicked down and I shut off. I put a towel at the bottom of my door and sat my weights on top of it, which would prevent any gases from entering my room. I shut my lights off and pulled my shades down. I wasn’t going to be the kid who was caught in the crossfire. The southern teen whose death goes reported but neglected. My heart was pounding, and I felt suspended in nausea, like I wanted to vomit from all of the adrenaline. There were so many things that my mind thought my body wanted to do, but none of them were permitted. Cry, pass out. All I managed to do was shake. I felt myself dialing the number, but I had to press clear four times before I could finish it. Why didn’t I use my contacts? It was a force of habit, a matter of superficial secrecy. Like I was keeping something from myself. A bullet broke the wood and pierced my chest.

This was my gateway to heaven. I was bathed in an ocean of bliss, a tempest of warm perspiration forming a spiritual cocoon where my skin should have been. Everything was light, red and white. Everything was gone; out of sight, out of mind. The sweetness flooded my brain while it retired. My last hurrah. The final thing I felt was his tear falling on my cheek, tracing a trail of wetness as it fell past the corner of my lips and into my mouth. Everything became a matter of shapes and sizes, like my soul was stretching and contorting. Everything was comfortable. I couldn’t remember anything about my real life, I was simply content. 

I never touched the darkness. I revolved around it like a planet, but I was a universe, and it was a minuscule, compact entity. A black hole. When I woke up, I felt disappointed to no longer feel the promise of the blackness. My impending doom was gone, and now, everything was white. A woman in one color yelped when my eyes flickered. The first thing I wanted to do was lift my head and look around; she defeated my neck’s attempts and slid my forehead back with one fingers, hushing and shushing something that I could not discern. She ran out of the room as I accepted my instability, keeping my eyes shut as faint pains flooded my chest.

The sharpness I never felt the first time entered my empty brain. I felt like an addict in recovery. All of the happiness had been sucked from my body, and the world was an empty, hopeless, depressing place. I was still hallucinating, still feeling colors when I felt the bullet enter my abdomen again. Their voices brought me back to reality. She was with another woman and a man, now. He started asking me questions and I did nothing but grit my teeth and struggle with the idea of speaking. There was an emptiness below my left nipple. It rang and called and I hurt, beginning to sob. I heard a beep, and twenty-five seconds later, I started to fade into nothing again. This was entirely grey, instead. Not black and white. I was asleep.

I was covered in sweat when I woke up. Yoongi was the one who cried into my throat, but now he was drooling on my chest, and Seokjin’s arms were behind my head and across my neck. I was still in Yoongi’s room, in his bed. She was still dead. And this, this was odd. Did he feel bad? Why was he still here, in this bed? With me, with us? I put them together as best I could and slipped down the foot of the bed.

I went back to my room to face the music and grab my phone. The social worker called me back. Just once. She left a voicemail. I promptly deleted the missed calls from earlier. I didn’t want to look at them, think about their times, wonder what I was dreaming about or who was touching me. When my phone was almost as safe as earlier, I listened. Her condolences. Information on the wake, the funeral. The service, whatever procession. She would handle it. And the will. I inherited everything. The 2004 Hyundai Elantra. The two bedroom house. Her bank accounts would be drained to fund her services, but her life insurance was all mine.

I loved money, growing up. Now, it didn’t matter. Money wasn’t worth much, even if it was hundreds of thousands, millions. Anything, really. And it shouldn’t for anyone. Love and passion, war and peace. There’s so much more to life than money. Maybe I needed to see real conflict before being able to realize that materialism is a privilege. Some people live day-to-day. They have nothing. 

I put white sweatpants on and went upstairs with a bottle of product and my phone. I saw Jungkook in the hallway. He asked me what was wrong, probably wondering about my bloodshot eyes, or the bags beneath them. I told him what happened. He empathized and hugged me tightly, rubbing my back, and I broke down again. I wasn’t ready to accept it. But he was there for me, and he told me that he loved me, and that I should come to him later, and that if I ever need anything, he’s there for me.

I think he started to wonder what it must feel like. He started thinking about his own mother. He mumbled something about calling her as he quietly walked back into his room, waving before shutting the door. Taehyung was sitting on the edge of the bed, toying with a portable gaming device. He smiled at me. My gaze reciprocated.

I went back upstairs to be close to them. Their bathroom was large, and I was careless. The bleach burned my scalp. I was still groggy from the night terror, and now, I was crouched over Yoongi’s toilet, changing my amber hair to a crisp, slapdash toasted marshmallow. Alleviating the burden of color. His little brother knocked on the door. He wanted to pee before school. I broke down into tears again, destroyed by my own selfishness. I forgot. He’s only sixteen, and he has to be here, to deal with this. I let him in. He asked me what was wrong. I told him by mother had passed away. He gave me a hug and let me stand in the shower while he prepared for the day and left with a somber, thoughtful grin. I washed myself out and left the rest for later.

I tried to nap on the couch. I didn’t want to bother Seokjin and Yoongi, whose sleep had been interrupted by the probable beginning of my spiritual awakening. Another dream, only this time, I was lucid. I stood there, over the same toilet, praying. When Yoongi’s little brother came in and asked me what was wrong, I told him that I was pregnant with another man’s child. The words came out and I couldn’t control them. I wanted Yoongi to not care if I was pregnant with Seokjin’s child. I remember that emotion distinctly. I started thinking, right away. Finally, thinking in a dream, and I thought when I woke up, too. Is this about me feeling like I’m cheating? Is this about me feeling like I’m not man enough? Was it triggered by thoughts of mother and child? What am I so afraid of?

It struck me, then, that nobody cared but me. This is a realization I keep repeating. When you’re like me, you make your own family. To be loved deeply, and on the surface, to have a man who cares for me so intensely. To be someone’s tall model boyfriend, and to have a bigger, broad-shouldered lover myself. For them to be in bed right now, without me and still fine. To be satisfied with your affection, and your sex life. To be taken care of. To have friends, naive or wise, who—despite a wide variety of very different characteristics—view you as amazing. People who appreciate your existence. I am so lucky to be close to so many people. I don’t have the best life, but I most definitely do not have the worst either.

The wake was the next week. Yoongi told me to take some time off. His brother wouldn’t mind. He’d understand. Anyone with a heart would understand. I went alone. Everyone said sorry to me. I cried on all of them. I told my aunt that I would come to Christmas. I swore I would. I gave many of them my personal phone number. I told them I was living with my best friend from high school. I tore the wound up with a needle and let it reset until I was happy with the shape of the scar. I was the last person in the parlor three times. Each time, I knelled in front of my mother’s body and sobbed.

How beautiful, she was. And this was nothing what she would have really looked like. Her blood had been drained. The makeup was heavy, and impressive. She wore her mother’s wedding dress, with her eyelids sewed shut. My uncle tolerated the sight and feeling of her lifeless body, to touch her cheek when he cried. Everyone felt terrible for me, but no part of me enjoyed the attention. The next day, she was buried with stains from my tears lining the white linen of her casket. The priest gave his spiel while everyone cried. I smiled. She did not have a full life. Her death was confusing, and I was removed from it. Her sendoff was important. It was sufficient.

I am an only child. My father did not show up. I vowed to never speak to him again, and I took another week to myself. I put the pen down, I dragged my guitar upstairs. I slept in Yoongi’s bed for days upon days. We went out. To dinner and the movies. And Seokjin came. Yoongi and Seokjin kissed. That was true happiness. That was true calm. My mother is safe. She is absent. She left to heaven. I sometimes wonder if she thought she’d end up in hell for casting her child away. I hope that the rush of death calmed her sufficiently. I hope that her soul energy slipped away discreetly before she realized that her faith was fictional. I hope she died happy. 

Seokjin quit his job and came to the house. He is now stable security; better than the rotating street mercenaries we hired for ridiculous temporary rates. He lives in a small studio apartment that Yoongi’s parents turned the attic into decades ago. I am ready to move forward. Looking back won’t be easy. None of this is easy. But I must move forward. I can reflect and grow from metacognition in my free time. Free time is not cross-legged with my companions. Free time is not relaxing with hobbies. Free time is not in bed with my lovers. There is a time and place for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this sound like a conclusion? It does, but it isn’t. It might have been, if this was a novella. I see this as a further opportunity to tie up loose ends, though. Once story arcs have been sealed, I’ll likely continue things free-play. (Read: sexual ensemble, fluffier plots, etc..) It also might free me from the emotional investment of updating multiple times a day. That’s just the sort of writer I am. I get excited and finish a central plot in a week or I never finish it at all. I’m happy where I’m at with this one. A sincere thank you to everyone reading. It means so much to me, that I can share my ideas and stories so openly like this. You have my heart.
> 
>  
> 
> **UPDATE: I wanted to continue this thread more than anything, but I know in the heart of my heart that it is over. The last thing that I want to do is betray the intuition that has guided me throughout this magical one week writing process. Its continuation like this would be forced. I have already started writing additions to the saga, but they will be a part of this story and its cast as a series when included in the future. The plot is not over; the characters do not cease to exist as soon as the green check mark appears. They are very much alive, in my being and in yours. This decision is a formality and not an announcement. This is not the last time you will see these beautiful young men. Much love.**


End file.
